


Built This Way

by scoradh



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:04:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1327804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoradh/pseuds/scoradh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little ditty about Ryou and Choutarou, two Japanese kids doing the best that they can.</p><p>Written in September 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song of the same name by Samantha Ronson.

Shishido decides that he needs to walk off breakfast. Although his brother often has occasion to compare his appetite unfavourably to that of a horse, even Shishido doesn't usually have a four-course meal before ten in the morning.  
  
The team disperses promptly once released by Atobe's regal wave. Oshitari mutters something about the original Degas in one of the downstairs bathrooms. Jiroh makes it as far as a Louis XVI loveseat before falling asleep. Mukahi has an evil gleam in his eye; Shishido has a idea that this is inspired by the underground cinema in Atobe's 'cottage' and the shelves of unlicensed pornography that accompany it. Kabaji plods off behind Atobe, who is planning a sweeping inspection of the house staff. Before Shishido knows it, he is standing ankle-deep in carpet and alone in the middle of a mile-long hallway.   
  
He considers asking Ohtori if he wants to come for a ramble through the extensive grounds. His plan is rendered moot by the fact that he has no idea where Ohtori has gone. Shishido couldn't even guarantee that he could find his way back to his own guest bedroom, let alone Ohtori's -- at least without some kind of map.  
  
Shishido sets off down the corridor. He is vaguely thinking that he eventually has to hit a wall when the faint sound of music trickles in from an open door. Intrigued, Shishido slips through. He finds himself at the edge of a chamber that is vast even by Atobe's standards, and heavily burdened with the sort of fat plaster angel decoration that Shishido had thought only existed in certain parts of Europe. Then again, until he met Atobe Shishido hadn't believed that there were people rich enough to employ on-site hairdressers for their fourteen-year-old sons.  
  
Shishido thinks that the gold and red walls are a bit gaudy, although Oshitari would probably have him burnt alive for heresy if he said that aloud. His brief appreciation of interior design ended, he concentrates on the music that drew him in. It has become distinctly louder. Shishido can just see the flash of silver hair between the hodge-potch of musical instruments dotted around the room.  
  
He smiles to himself. He should have known that Ohtori would find the music room. Music is Ohtori's mistress. He even brought his violin with him to the cottage, although Shishido couldn't convince him to play anything. It seems he's finally caught Ohtori out.  
  
While there are hundreds of deaf alley cats who know more about music than Shishido, it doesn't mean that he can't appreciate something that sounds good when he hears it. He waits patiently for Ohtori to finish playing, which he does with a ripple of music that reminds Shishido of raindrops pelting into a lake. Then he saunters between a couple of balloon-backed chairs, slides behind a cello and creeps up on Ohtori.  
  
He stops, startled, when he sees Ohtori's face. He is poised over the keyboard of a piano like a bird of prey, his eyes squeezed so tightly shut that Shishido wonders if he's in pain. His lower lip is caught between his teeth.  
  
Shishido had been planning on clapping his hands over Ohtori's eyes and saying 'Guess who?' in a Mukahi-like falsetto, but he reconsiders. Ohtori looks like he's on the verge of a heart attack.  
  
"Hey, Ohtori?" No response. "Choutarou?" says Shishido, louder. Ohtori's eyes snap open and he whirls to face Shishido, looking guilty.  
  
"Oh, it's you, Shishido-san." Ohtori lets his tentative smile spread over his face. "I thought you were Atobe, coming to tell me off for touching his instruments."  
  
"Why would he do that?" Shishido runs his hand over the frame of the piano. From where he's standing, he can see what's inside -- regimented lines of strings and bits of wood.   
"Instruments are made to be played."  
  
"Yeah, but this isn't your average instrument." Ohtori gives a rueful laugh. "A Steinway grand! I guess I should expect it -- this is Atobe's house, after all. But it's _old_ , too. Real ivory keys and everything."  
  
"That's a good thing, is it? I thought Atobe always had the newest stuff." Shishido's eyes follow Ohtori's fingers, which have drifted up to brush the romanji lettering above the keyboard with something like reverence.   
  
A faint flush comes to Ohtori's cheeks. Shishido has noticed that Ohtori blushes a lot. At first it was both annoying and weird -- Shishido kept wondering what he'd done to embarrass his kouhai. Over time, though, Shishido has come to accept it as one of Ohtori's quirks.   
  
"I'm sorry, Shishido-san." Ohtori bows his head. "I shouldn't bother you with my chatter about music."  
  
"Don't be an ass, Choutarou," says Shishido, for about the forty millionth time. "It's kind of interesting." To prove his words, he sits down on the piano stool beside Ohtori. It's a huge, boxy thing that roughly approximates to the size of Shishido's sofa, but Ohtori blushes as deeply as if Shishido had plonked himself on Ohtori's lap.   
  
"So." Shishido prods a key with his finger, choosing to spare the other boy's feelings by ignoring his jumpiness. "What were you playing before? It sounded really good."  
  
"Oh, it wasn't," groans Ohtori. "I'm still banging my left thumb -- and I fudged the whole middle section -- and I totally slurred that acciaccatura. It was terrible!"  
  
Shishido spreads his fingers over the piano and presses down. The discordant sound seems to recall Ohtori to himself. "What's it called? And don't you need, like, music pages or something?"  
  
"It's Chopin's Minute Waltz," explains Ohtori. "I have it memorised now, so I don't need to look at the music any more. A good thing, too, as I didn't bring any of it with me."  
  
"It is the same as the violin music, then?" Shishido is genuinely curious now, yet Ohtori takes reticence to galactic levels. He rarely volunteers information unless asked first.  
  
Ohtori laughs. "Not at all! I only started to play the violin when my teacher suggested I apply to Hyoutei. You need to be able to play two instruments to qualify for their music programme. But piano is my first love." His fingers caress the keys. In a flitter of movement he produces a light, tingling chord that makes Shishido, for a moment, burningly jealous.  
  
"Will you play something else?" Shishido stares at Ohtori's hands. Ohtori doesn't seem to realise that he's unconsciously adopted a different posture: back straight, chin lifted, elbows bent, fingers curved. It makes him look different. Confident.  
  
"What would you like to hear?" There's something almost like pride in Ohtori's usually painfully modest voice. "I have quite a large repertoire. My sister makes me learn loads of sappy film scores for her amusement."  
  
"Don't tell Oshitari -- he'll force you to play that song from Titanic." Shishido shivers. Oshitari once enticed the entire team into coming to his house for a film night. Little did anyone know they would be forced to endure hour upon hour of subbed romantic dialogue while Oshitari quietly sobbed his way through a entire box of tissues.   
  
"I take it you don't want to hear My Heart Will Go On, then," teases Ohtori. At Shishido's blank expression, Ohtori rearranges his hands and begins to play a horribly familiar tune. Shishido's eyes widen in recognition and he squashes Ohtori's hands under his own to stop the sound.   
  
Ohtori laughs like a good sport, but Shishido can see that he's blushing again. Wishing -- not for the first time -- that his partner were a little less self-conscious, Shishido smirks and says, "Anything else?"  
  
"Well --" Ohtori hesitates "-- most of my pieces are six or ten pages long. They'll take a while to play --"  
  
"I don't mind," replies Shishido firmly. "Am I in your way?"  
  
Ohtori frowns a little. "I may have to lean over you once or twice, but not really."  
  
"Good. I like watching your fingers."   
  
Too late, Shishido realises that this is a line guaranteed to embarrass Ohtori -- even though he didn't mean to. Yet for once, Ohtori appears unaffected. He is even smiling slightly. "So do I. See they high polish on the backboard? I can see my fingers in it. It's sort of cool."  
  
"It's _really_ cool," corrects Shishido.   
Ohtori sighs. "I wish I had a piano of my own. I have to practice on an electric keyboard."  
  
"That's bad?"  
  
"Yeah -- because it's electronic, so I can't do louds and softs properly." Ohtori plays a few gentle notes, followed by some thumping ones, to demonstrate. "The practice rooms in Hyoutei are great -- although even _their_ grand is only a Kawai -- but they're always booked up, and I never get to play as long as I like. Atobe is so lucky."  
  
"Yeah, and I doubt he even plays," returns Shishido dryly. "Probably got someone to learn it for him."  
  
Ohtori stares at the piano for a while before splaying his fingers across the keys. Shishido can see his fingers trembling slightly, although whether that's from adrenaline or stage fright he can't tell. Ohtori's hands shake before tennis matches too.  
  
Ohtori's colour rises steadily as he plays, until his entire face is suffused with pink. But by then, Shishido isn't paying attention to his face. His mind is captivated by the way Ohtori's fingers dance along the keys, almost too nimble to be real. Although Shishido has been known to immediately switch radio stations when anything classical comes on, he sits through an entire Beethoven sonata without feeling bored in the slightest. He even discovers that his eyes are dry when Ohtori finishes, because he'd been watching Ohtori's hands too hard to blink.  
  
"That was _awesome_ ," breathes Shishido, and is rewarded with a huge smile. It is almost immediately followed by a wince.  
  
"I screwed up the end, again," sighs Ohtori. "Too fast. Then again, I'm really bad at slow pieces. I always try to speed them up too much."  
  
"To two hundred kilometres per hour, maybe?" suggests Shishido.   
  
"I don't think you get metronomes that go up that high." Ohtori's face is deadly solemn, which is how Shishido knows he's making a joke.   
  
"I wish I could play like you." Shishido plinks at a few keys.   
  
"I could teach you to play chopsticks," offers Ohtori.  
  
"Play what?" Shishido bursts out laughing.  
  
"It's just a fun thing -- lots of people who haven't learned to play can do it. You could too." Ohtori's face is bright and eager. Shishido is regretting his impulsive outburst, but he doesn't want to appear ungracious.  
  
"Okay, then. What do I have to do?"  
  
"Put your right thumb on middle C -- this note. And put your other thumb eight notes down. That's another C. Eight notes makes an octave."  
  
Shishido bites his lip and does as he is told. A cool fingertip is inserted under his wrist. Startled, he looks over at Ohtori.  
  
"You have to keep your wrists up. Don't squash the bird."   
  
"What bird?" Shishido doesn't know much about pianos or making music from them, but he could have sworn that avians were in no way involved.  
  
"It's a teaching method. You tell kids not to squash the bird between their wrists and the lip under the keys. Later on, you need to be able to move your fingers quickly and easily, and you can't do that if your wrists are dragging along the floor." Ohtori puts his hands on the piano. "Pretend you're squeezing a tennis ball. That's the shape you want."  
  
Shishido claws his hands a bit. Ohtori nods encouragingly. "Hey, you're not a bad teacher," Shishido tells him.  
  
"Kantoku actually gets me to tutor other students sometimes." Ohtori shrugs it off, but the glow on his cheeks tells Shishido that the praise was welcome.   
  
They stay there for another hour. Shishido is determined to master chopsticks for Ohtori's sake. He has no way of telling if he's any good, because Ohtori would probably say he was excellent even if he'd peeled off the keys and eaten them. Still, he thinks that what he's playing sounds a bit like how Ohtori's playing it.  
  
In the end, it is Shishido who is reluctant to leave for tennis practice. He pauses on the way out to strum at a harp.   
  
Ohtori hovers in the doorway, waiting on him. "Hey, if you're that interested, I could give you a few lessons. Nothing serious -- just for fun."  
  
Shishido thinks of the way tennis clubs eats his life. He thinks of the piles of homework on his bedroom floor, which resemble small, unscaled mountains. He thinks of his weekend chores. His Playstation. What Atobe said about how it was high time his team started dating or the rats from Seigaku would nail all the pretty girls.   
  
"Sure," he says. Ohtori's face lights up like Shishido's turned on a switch inside his head. "I'd like that."  
  
+++  
  
"No, no." Ohtori shakes his head. "What does crescendo mean, again?"  
  
Shishido bites his lip in concentration. "Getting louder gradually?"  
  
"Yes." Ohtori plays a short scale. "See, there. I started soft and got louder." He plays the scale again. "Then I was just loud."  
  
"Forte."  
  
Ohtori smiles in pleasure. "Exactly. Now you just have to translate that knowledge on to the keyboard. Listen to yourself play."  
  
Ohtori puts his hand back in his lap as Shishido has another go. Ohtori fished out all his baby books intending Shishido to learn from them, but Shishido turned out to be remarkably precocious. Given that Shishido's not studying for a music exam, Ohtori figures that it's okay for him to decide what he wants to play. Goodness knows Ohtori would give up scales in thirds in a heartbeat if he thought he could get away with it.  
  
It is one of the rare evenings on which Ohtori managed to procure a practice room for them. Up till now, they've mainly been using Ohtori's keyboard. Shishido comes over a couple of times a week for a half-hour practice, which usually turns into either a full-on lesson or segues into a tennis game.  
  
Ohtori can't wait for high school. If they both make it to Hyoutei's senior high school, they'll have almost unlimited access to pianos. Apparently there about fifty, all told. It's a far cry from Hyoutei Gauken, with its single Kawai grand for performances and four practice uprights.   
  
Of course, there's no guarantee that Shishido will still have any interest in learning piano by the time Ohtori gets to high school. Ohtori doesn't bother thinking about that, though.   
Their synchronicity on the courts is also apparent here, as they share the piano stool. They never get in each other's way, even though they're sitting so close that Ohtori's thigh is flush against Shishido's.  
  
Ohtori is a bit too aware of that fact, but his mother said that he would be having all sorts of new feelings as he became a teenager. Ohtori assumes that this is just one of them.  
  
With a small pant, Shishido crashes out the final chords of a grade three Gigue. He's only been learning it for two weeks, and his mastery of the basics is impressive. Still -- "You still need to be careful with your speed," warns Ohtori. "You're just like me -- you get too caught up in the playing. You need to remember to count."  
  
"I hate counting," groans Shishido, drooping.  
  
"Me too." With reluctance, Ohtori checks his watch. "We'd better make a move. This room is reserved from six o'clock onwards, and I still have my violin practice to do."  
  
"Where do you do that?"  
  
"Anywhere. It's a bit more portable, obviously." Ohtori pats the lid of the piano after closing it. "That's why the piano is such a challenging instrument -- you have to adapt to a new one everywhere you go. Whereas my violin and I have been together for years; I know all its funny little whims."  
  
"So the violin is like a lover, and the piano is a one night stand?" Shishido jams his cap on his head, fortunately not appearing to notice the way heat rushed to Ohtori's cheeks at the word lover.  
  
Mentally, he berates himself. He's nearly fourteen. He needs to get used to hearing things like that without being embarrassed. Try telling that to his blushing reflex, though.  
  
"I wouldn't have put it like that," he mutters.   
  
Shishido laughs and knuckles Ohtori's head. Ohtori likes it, despite the fact that it's painful. "I know you wouldn't. You're like a glass of water, Choutarou. I can see right through you."  
  
"Well, this glass of water has violin practice," says Ohtori. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow, at morning practice?" He tries to make it sound like an empty enquiry, not the loaded question it actually is.  
  
"Actually, I was hoping I'd see you a bit sooner than that." Shishido smiles the small, genuine smile few people get to see. "Will you play your violin for me?"  
  
Heat fills Ohtori like burning tea. "You really want to hear it?"  
  
"If you're anything like as good with the violin as you are with the piano, then yes. I really want to. Don't hide your light under a bushel, Ohtori."  
  
"Okay." Ohtori picks up his violin case. His fingers feel cold and damp, just like they do before a competition -- even though it's only Shishido.  
  
Then again, maybe that's why.  
  
"Race you to Block A," suggests Shishido. While Ohtori has the longer legs, Shishido has dynamite speed. It's always a close tie.  
  
"You're on." They shoulder open the doors and streak through them. Ohtori laughs from pure exhilaration, all nerves forgotten.   
  
+++  
  
As one school year ends and the next begins, Shishido's piano lessons become as much a part of his life as his new, shorter hair. He's decided not to grow it back -- at least, not yet. That would mean he's just trying to get back to where he was before, when even he knows that place doesn't exist any more.   
  
He'd worried a little about keeping contact with Ohtori during his first year of high school in Hyoutei, but it turns out not to be a problem at all. The social science stream has been moved into a new complex right next door to the middle school. It's no trouble at all to slip out of Wednesday labs early to meet up with Ohtori in the practice studios or his bedroom.   
  
Shishido hasn't told anyone about his lessons. It helps that no one asks, even though he's sure the old Regulars (now ballboys, each and every one) have guessed. It's not that he thinks piano is for girls or losers; Ohtori is decidedly neither. Shishido just gets the feeling that he doesn't look the part. He's not ethereal or dreamy. Rather, he has the appearance of someone who builds houses for a living.   
  
Ohtori doesn't complain about the need for secrecy -- but then again, he wouldn't.  
  
+++  
  
Ohtori's father insists that he examines all his options as high school approaches.  
  
"You don't know if you'll get into Hyoutei's senior school," he warns. "Or even if it's the best place for you to be."  
  
Ohtori says nothing, just smiles and nods. Inside, his certainty is a cold and rock-solid thing. He _will_ get into Hyoutei, just like he got on the Regulars and into the music programme. It _is_ the best place for him to be. His friends are there.   
  
Shishido is there.  
  
They go on several weekend visits to other educational establishments. Some of them are nicer than Hyoutei, some of them aren't. Ohtori barely takes them in, resenting every minute he has to spend away from revising and practising scales or his serve.  
  
The only time he livens up is when his father takes him on a prospective tour of Hyoutei High's boarding school. Another boy called Hideki is being shown around at the same time. Ohtori vaguely recognises him from Hyotei Gakuen. It turns out that he's the brother of the guide, who works as a dorm master.  
  
They hit it off while Ohtori's father is asking pompous questions about the facilities, which the guide answers with utmost politeness and hidden smiles to the boys. When Ohtori's father is inspecting the mattresses for fleas, the guide pulls them aside.  
  
"I can probably pull some strings, if you want to share," he whispers.   
  
Ohtori grins at Hideki, and sees his excitement mirrored in the other boy's eyes.  
For him, the decision is sealed then and there.  
  
+++  
  
When Ohtori is accepted into Hyoutei Senior High School, he tells Shishido first. He also acts like it was a big surprise, even though Shishido assumed it was a given. Ohtori is gifted at music, was one of the steady winners in the tennis team that placed fourth at Nationals this year and, to top it off, gets consistently good grades. Hyoutei isn't about to let someone like that slip away.  
  
Still, Shishido can't help but feel affection for Ohtori's innocent pleasure in his success. He takes him out for ramen to celebrate, while Ohtori natters on about the high school music programme and the great opportunities it provides.  
  
"You are going to have time to teach me, aren't you?" asks Shishido, halfway through a bowl of noodles. He's honestly surprised by the apprehension he feels on asking the question. He hadn't realised that the piano lessons meant so much to him.  
  
"Of course!" laughs Ohtori. His meal has grown cold while he rhapsodises over some medal or other he might be eligible for if he learns more Mozart. He winks, a strangely mischievous gesture for Ohtori. "I can put it on my credit list -- that I'm teaching piano as well. Of course, I'll keep your identity secret."  
  
"Nah." Shishido leans back in an attempt to be casual, but only succeeds in nearly knocking over his can of Ponta. "You can put my name down, if you have to."  
  
A small smile flickers across Ohtori's face, before he bends his head to hide it. "That's good. I'll be able to report your excellent progress, Shishido-san."  
  
Shishido idly wonders if he can break Ohtori of the Shishido-san habit before they leave   
high school.  
  
+++  
  
The boarding part of the high school is run along the exact same lines as the middle school one. Ohtori supposes that the administration, like administrations everywhere, didn't want to waste an idea if it seemed to work. So freshmen share a room; juniors share a study, but have their own bedroom; and seniors get their own suite. Despite the sharing, the rooms are far more palatial than in any of the other boarding schools Ohtori checked out with his father. The boarders at St Rudolph's had to share rooms right the way through, and there was only one bathroom per floor.   
  
No one is exempt from the hierarchy, although Atobe tried his very best to get his own suite from the get-go. Then again, the dorm masters turn a blind eye to the fact that Atobe spends most nights at home in his mansion and has never once been present for bed check.   
  
The dorm masters also feign not to notice the practice of night-time visiting. Most of them are Hyoutei alumni themselves, which might be the reason why they let the tradition continue. Of course, it only works as long as you don't get caught. If you can't manage to get around bed check, or if you make so much noise that the dorm masters have to turn on the hallway floodlights, then you've lost and you deserve whatever punishment is meted out to you. That's the Hyoutei way.  
  
Ohtori never gets caught.  
  
When Shishido mentioned that Ohtori could come visit him if he felt ill -- Hyoutei code for homesick -- Ohtori wasn't sure if he meant after hours or not, but he decided to chance it. He waits until the dorm master has stuck a torch into their room and hops out of bed. He puts on shoes over his sleeping socks and stuffs a pillow under his duvet. Hideki wakes up midway and watches Ohtori sleepily by moonlight. Ohtori doesn't have to explain himself. Hideki boarded at Hyotei Gakuen, after all. He's probably done his fair share of visiting.  
  
"Be back by twelve," whispers Hideki. "My brother says they do surprise second checks during the first week."  
  
"Thanks." Ohtori smiles and slips through the door. He'd made sure it wasn't fully closed when they went to bed, so that there would be no noise from the lock when he left. The dorm master knows this trick as well as Ohtori and obviously respects it; he hadn't closed the door properly when he was finished the bed check, either.  
  
Ohtori pads down the corridor, not walking fast -- if he does, his breathing will become too audible. For this corridor he's safe, because he can claim he's going to the toilet if he's found out of bed. It's when he passes the fire door at the end that he enters dangerous territory. Barring a national emergency, there's no legitimate reason for him to have left his floor.   
  
Most of Ohtori's building is filled with freshmen, but there are one or two floors for juniors. Fortunately for Ohtori, Shishido's bedroom is on one of them. He made sure to check where it was during orientation week, and memorised the route again when Shishido invited him and the rest of the old team over for cheese on toast. ('The team of the future!' Mukahi boastfully corrected him.)  
  
Oddly enough, Ohtori only feels nervous when he's in front of Shishido's door, his hand raised to knock. For a minute he considers turning around and going right back the way he came. He dismisses this as foolishness. To risk all this to give up at the last hurdle? Ridiculous.  
  
"Be cool, Ohtori Choutarou," he tells himself, and knocks gently. For two heart-stopping seconds, there is no answer. Then Ohtori hears a faint click, and Shishido is standing in front of him. He is tousled from sleep and dressed in the creased boxers and t-shirt he uses for pyjamas, but he doesn't look remotely tired.  
  
"Get in here, Choutarou," he growls. The effect is ruined by his grin. Like Ohtori, he doesn't fully close the door -- the better not to arouse suspicion with the noise of engaging locks.  
  
Shishido throws himself back into his nest of blankets. Ohtori takes a seat on the floor by the bed, resting his back against the wall. It's cold, and he resolves to bring a dressing gown next time.  
  
"I wasn't sure if you'd come or not," says Shishido. He keeps his voice low. Ohtori answers at the same level.  
  
"I can leave if you want." He smiles. Shishido doesn't want him to leave. He wouldn't have asked Ohtori over if he hadn't wanted him here. That's the best thing about Shishido -- you can trust him completely, because he never says things he doesn't mean.  
  
They talk about inconsequential things, their conversation the more inspired for the fact that they're not supposed to be having it. Ohtori feels his eyes getting heavier, but the cold wall keeps him awake. Shishido, on the other hand, has no such stimulus. His responses become fewer and slower, puncutated by yawns. When Ohtori sees Shishido's digital clock flash 11:16, he decides it's time to go.   
  
He doesn't visit every night -- neither of them would get any sleep if that was the case. Of course Shishido doesn't visit him. When you're a freshman you can only have mutual friends over, otherwise it's rude to your roommate. But Ohtori makes a point of visiting as often as he can. He knows Shishido wouldn't be able to help mentioning it if Ohtori's visits were becoming an annoyance. As he doesn't, Ohtori feels free to continue.  
  
After the first few visits, Shishido lends him a pillow and blanket for the duration of his stay. The beds are narrow, and Ohtori wouldn't expect Shishido to share his bed even if it were the size of Olympic swimming pool. It just isn't done.  
  
Yet once the idea is lodged in his head, Ohtori can't shake it. He used to top and tail with his friends when he had sleepovers as a little kid. He tells himself that he just wants to hop under Shishido's covers because they look lovely and warm and, despite all Shishido does to provide for his guest's comfort, the floor is still a floor. But a part of him knows that what he really wants to do is to climb into bed with _Shishido._  
  
Ohtori never doubts that Shishido thinks of him as a friend, but he misses the kind of friendships he had when he was younger. Then, it was all about squashing into a tent made of sheets and dining chairs and sharing secrets in tree houses. Shishido has never so much as hugged him.   
  
No one in Hyoutei is particularly demonstrative -- with the possible exception of Kabaji, who is forever being called upon to remove obstacles in Atobe's path and airlift Jiroh to safety. Shishido doesn't stand out except to Ohtori. Even the punches to the arm that come after good practices are swiftly curtailed, as if Shishido is afraid he'll hurt Ohtori. In fact, the most contact they have is during Shishido's piano lessons.   
  
Ohtori would never, ever admit it to Shishido, but he relishes the fact that they have to share a piano stool for those. Or rather that Shishido _thinks_ they have to share a stool -- he doesn't realise that most piano teachers have their own chair. Ohtori isn't about to tell him, either. Although the accidental touches that happen during those lessons fluster Ohtori greatly, it doesn't mean that he doesn't like them. In fact, he thinks he might like them a little too much.  
  
Before he left to start high school, Ohtori overheard a late night exchange between his parents. He'd got up to fetch a glass of water and inadvertently eavesdropped. Okaasan was fretting about the environment in boarding schools, and Otousan was attempting to reassure her. (A useless effort, Ohtori could have told him; Okaasan worried for Japan.) Ohtori did wonder why she thought the air in Hyoutei was worse than any other area of Tokyo, until it transpired that she was referring to the _social_ environment.  
  
"Hyoutei is a mixed school," Otousan said, bafflingly, just before he moved to shut the door properly. The rest of the conversation was too muffled to decipher from the kitchen.   
  
A few months of high school were enough to make Okaasan's concerns more clear. What had been only hinted at in middle school was openly discussed in high school. Girls suddenly became a big deal instead of a background feature. Okaasan was obviously worried that Ohtori would get mixed up with a girl who would distract him from his schoolwork.   
  
So far, though, Ohtori has been safe. He knows what crushes are, but the only person he feels that way about is Shishido. As Shishido is a boy, it doesn't count. Ohtori likes spending time with Shishido more than anyone else, but he is also able to do that as much as his heart desires (and his timetable allows).   
  
No, Okaasan's anxieties were in vain.  
  
Still, Ohtori doesn't see any harm in the idea of sharing Shishido's bed for an hour or two -- especially as winter approaches. It's not like Shishido saving him from potential frostbite is anything other than a purely altruistic gesture.   
  
Sometimes Ohtori thinks about it when he gets back to his own bed. He imagines fitting himself to Shishido's back and absorbing his warmth. Maybe slinging an arm around his waist, so that he'll be more comfortable. He practices with his pillow, and doing that does help to distribute his weight better.  
  
Once or twice, when he's got it all pictured in his mind, he wonders if he could wait till Shishido is asleep and then rub his cheek against Shishido's hair. It's fascinated him ever since Shishido cut it: at first because it was such a constrast to his former mane, and then because it started to remind him of his cat's fur. Despite the choppy cut that has never since returned to its old smoothness, Shishido's hair is shiny and looks incredibly soft. With a little effort, Ohtori can almost will up the sensation of the silky strands brushing his face.  
  
He never dwells on it for long. It makes his face hot, and turns his stomach into a churning pit. It's never a good idea to get too fixated on weird things, but it's in Ohtori's nature to do so -- everything from Tamagochis to his lucky cross.  
  
One night, just before he leaves, the hand that Shishido is trailing along the floor brushes Ohtori's. Knuckles bump, and a squeezing sensation forces all the air out of Ohtori's lungs.  
  
"G'night, Choutarou," mumbles Shishido. His hand is gone again, tucked under his pillow. Ohtori wonders if he imagined the touch.   
  
"Shishido," says Ohtori in a rush. "We are friends, aren't we?"  
  
Shishido opens his eyes. A bit of moonlight is caught in his sleepy gaze. " _Best_ friends, Choutarou. Idiot."  
  
Ohtori can't keep a goofy grin off his face. He had dropped the -san from Shishido's name by accident, but Shishido didn't seem to notice.  
  
Ohtori thinks he might keep doing it.  
  
+++  
  
Tennis practice gets more torturous as the months go by. Shishido relishes the challenge even as his body threatens all-out strike. He does have to admit that he enjoys the after-practice showers more than he used to -- he's nodded off in them more than once.  
  
He stops off at the courts on his way out to check Ohtori's progress. In addition to their cleaning duties, freshmen are subjected to a rigorous set of stretching and muscle-building exercises before and after the seniors' practices. Despite his height, Ohtori is easily the most flexible of all the freshmen. He's able to bend from the waist and lay his hands flat on the ground. Most of his classmates can barely touch their knees, especially after fetching balls for two hours.  
  
Shishido relaxes against the mesh fence to wait until Ohtori is released. He's not alone in his vigil. A number of other boys are waiting on their friends. One of them stands alone, a notebook in hand. The setting sun flashes off his opaque glasses.   
  
A cluster of girls near Shishido are clearly not there to appreciate the tennis form. Shishido is rather amused by their whispers -- which are borderline scurrilous -- until Ohtori's name comes up.  
  
It's unfortunate that Ohtori chooses that moment to switch to hamstring stretches. Shishido can see that his shorts ride up a little with the movement, and of course he has muscled legs -- he plays tennis, for crying out loud. That's no reason for the girls to start chattering like a bunch of brain-dead starlings, sighing things like 'He's so hot' for anyone to hear.  
  
Shishido glares at them from under the brim of his cap, but this only elicits further giggles. One girl practically collapses against the fence, a breathless 'Ohtori-kun' spilling from her lips like a prayer.   
  
Perhaps Ohtori senses his name being called, for he looks up. He gives an enthusiastic wave on spotting Shishido by the fence. The girls turn as one to stare at Shishido, expectation limning their features.   
  
Reluctantly, Shishido raises his hand to return the greeting. At the last minute he touches his cap, so that anyone watching might have thought he just meant to adjust it in the first place. Then he turns and walks quickly away.

 

 +++

 

Ohtori stifles a yawn as he bends over his geometry homework. Life has been hectic lately. The teachers were obviously trained in sadism, for they delight in piling on more and more work with each new day. Clearly they're waiting to see who'll be the first to crack. Ohtori is determined that it won't be him, but it's hard to remember that at ten o'clock, after a tennis practice that seemed to last for years followed by two hours of frustration in the company of his violin. No less than three strings had snapped, Ohtori's fingers cramped from all the swings he'd done earlier and, worst of all, the music just wouldn't come. All he was doing was sawing the bow across the violin. This was not where he wanted to be when he had an under-sixteens violin solo competition the very next weekend.

Hideki is splayed across his bed, reading a manga. He's only in the art club, and he finished his homework hours ago. He offered to let Ohtori copy. Ohtori managed not to let his indignation show at the time, but now he's almost considering taking Hideki up on it. Lights are out in half an hour and Ohtori is only half way through his maths problems.

A knock comes at the door, and Hideki rolls to his feet to answer it. Ohtori hides a frown in his hand. The last thing he needs is one of Hideki's friends cluttering up the air with loud debates about the crassness of Henri Rousseau's work, or whatever is the current hot topic in the art club.

He nearly falls off his chair as a familiar, if confused, voice asks, "Er, hey. Is Chou -- is Ohtori-kun here?"

"Shishido," gasps Ohtori. "What are you doing here?"

Shishido is leaning against the doorframe, twirling his cap in his hands. To anyone else the pose would have appeared arrogantly confident, but Ohtori knows Shishido well enough to realise that he's feeling hesitant. Ohtori would be too, if Hideki was looking at him with such a vicious expression.

"I came to visit you, of course." Shishido clears his throat. "I was wondering -- well, you know Saturday is free activities, so I was thinking we could hit the street courts. We need to brush up on our doubles work before next year if we're going to take back the D1 spot."

"I'd love to, but I can't." Ohtori's brain runs through his options. There are none. He bites his lip in regret. "I have a violin competition on Saturday. I really can't miss it."

"Don't sweat it, Ohtori," says Shishido, sounding amused. "We can play next weekend."

"Promise?"

"Sure." Shishido flips his cap a little too quickly, and it ends up on Hideki's bed. Hideki brushes it to the floor as if it were a poisonous spider. Ohtori gapes at his impoliteness, but to call him on it would be even more rude.

Shishido doesn't seem to notice anything amiss. He scoops up his cap and peeks over Ohtori's shoulder. "Geometry, eh? I remember that unit. It was a killer."

"Tell me about it," groans Ohtori. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Hideki scowling fit to burst.

"It's nearly lights-out," snaps Hideki. "You'll have to leave soon ... what was your name again?"

"I know that, squirt." Shishido doesn't even look at Hideki, fixing his gaze on Ohtori instead. "If you want some help with that -- well, I have a torch. And all my old notes."  
He grins rakishly.

"That'd be brilliant. Thank you, Shishido."

"Don't mention it." Shishido pauses at the door. "Where is your competition on?"

Ohtori reels off the address. Shishido nods, satisfied. "Do your best, Choutarou."

"Of course." Ohtori beams, but Shishido is already gone.

"You're finished, right?" says Hideki roughly. He slams off the light before Ohtori even has a chance to reply.

+++

Shishido pushes open the door to the hotel, feeling a dart of guilt at the sweaty mark he leaves on the gold handle. His discomfort only increases as he takes in the plush surroundings in the hotel lobby, from the glittering chandelier to the potted palms. He nearly turns around and leaves, but then he spots the signs leading the way to a violin recital.

The doorman guarding the way to the ballroom raises sceptical eyebrows at Shishido's rather pungent streetware, but when he gets out his Hyoutei student card it's like flashing a gold Visa. "You're just in time," the doorman whispers, and ushers him through.

Shishido hides behind a marble column as rousing applause breaks out. A girl, trembling like a leaf in a gale, walks away from the spot-lit dais at the other end of the ballroom and promptly dissolves into tears.

"Next we have Ohtori Choutarou of Hyoutei Senior High School. He will be playing 'The Lark Ascending' by Ralph Vaughan Williams. Ohtori Choutarou, ladies and gentlemen."

A door behind the dais opens and Ohtori comes through. The compère guides him the front of the dais. Shishido's eyes widen as he takes in his friend's appearance. Ohtori is dressed in tails, with a white shirt and a black bowtie. His head is thrown back, his hair swept off his face. Shishido is used to the glittering eyes and burning cheeks that always accompany Ohtori's performance, but this is something else again. Ohtori looks almost ... fierce.

Ohtori bows, and Shishido has a chance to notice the panel of judges sitting at a table in front of the dais. Ohtori lifts his violin to his neck and gently lays the bow across it. His eyes flutter closed.

And then, he plays.

Shishido would never admit that Ohtori's playing gives him the goosebumps. For one thing, it would mortify Ohtori and he might never play for Shishido again. Shishido knows that Ohtori is just another boy, but he has a hard time remembering it when Ohtori is in the thrall of an instrument. Then, he's more like a fallen angel -- or a reformed demon. Shishido can't make up his mind.

When the bow finally stops flying, the polite applause rises again. This time it sounds more enthusiastic, or maybe that's because Shishido is adding considerably to the racket from behind his pillar. Ohtori sags, his feet dragging as he goes to the ranks of chairs and sinks into one. Shishido guesses that he made some tiny mistake that no one who isn't a total perfectionist would hear, and it's getting him down. Shishido is impatient to go tell him how good -- how _great_ \-- he was, but the compère has ascended the dais again.

He announces a ten-minute recess while the judges review the performances. Shishido sees his chance and wends his way through the slowly moving crowd, banging more than one person with his tennis bag.

"Choutarou!" exclaims Shishido, grinning. Ohtori looks up, his face dazed. His eyes widen into swirling vats of chocolate.

"Shishido! You came. Why did you come?" Without waiting for an answer, Ohtori rushes on. "Wasn't that terrible? I panicked in the middle -- I couldn't remember what note came next, and there was this pause, I could see the judges staring at me --"

Shishido is used to Ohtori's adrenaline rushes. He's just the same after tennis matches, except at least then he knows if he's won or lost before he starts berating himself for his mistakes. Shishido puts a steadying hand on Ohtori's shoulder and Ohtori shuts up with a suddenness that surprises Shishido. He guesses that his gesture was unwarranted, and quickly returns his hand to the grip of his bag.

"You sounded brilliant to me," he assures Ohtori. He wants to banish that fragile look from Ohtori's face, but nothing he can do will erase Ohtori's habitual uncertainty. He's tried before.

"Who is this, Choutarou?" asks a new voice. It is cultured, finely-modulated, and as cold as ice shavings. Shishido feels his back stiffen in response.

"Okaasan! You came too. This is awesome." Ohtori's smile is wide and unfettered. "This is my friend, Shishido-san. Remember, I played doubles with him in middle school?"

"I remember," says Ohtori's mother. "Please do not use those slang words, Choutarou."

Her gaze roves over Shishido, catching on his cap (he forgot to take it off, and he can suddenly feel the sweat beading in his hair), the scrub marks on his shirt and shorts, his scuffed sneakers, the tennis bag that's seen better days. "So this is the famous Shishido-san, is it? At home it's always Shishido-san this, Shishido-san that. I'd swear that you were the only other person attending Hyoutei." She gives a little laugh, which sounds like ice cubes tinkling in a glass.

Shishido manages a smile. It hurts his mouth.

"Okaasan," hisses Ohtori, turning red. "Don't say things like that."

"Why not? It's true." Ohtori's mother clasps her hands over her elaborate obi. The last time Shishido's mother wore kimono was at her wedding twenty years ago. For some reason he thinks Ohtori-san can sense this, and despises it. "You are a good senpai to my son, Shishido-kun."

"I try." Shishido's tongue feels thick in his mouth.

"Indeed." Ohtori's mother turns to her son. She reaches up to fix his collar with a frown. "I'm glad to see that your playing has improved somewhat, Choutarou. It would have been an awful waste of money otherwise. I'm afraid I must be off, though. I expect you to bring me home a prize."

"You won't stay?" says Ohtori weakly.

His mother shakes her head. "Your father and I have an important lunch date with one of his clients. I only came to see you because we were in the area." Her small smile looks a little more genuine than before -- but not much. "I will tell him that he can be proud of his son, as always."

"Thank you, Okaasan." They bow to each other, looking oddly formal to Shishido's eyes, before Ohtori's mother glides off. She moves like a geisha.

Shishido can't think what to say. He hates to see Ohtori looking so pale and drawn, though. A few minutes ago Ohtori shone brighter than a Christmas tree. Somehow his mother managed to sap him of all his joy.

_Nice going_ , thinks Shishido, sarcastic even in his brain.

"Please sit down, Shishido." Ohtori pauses. "Unless you have to go somewhere, too."

Shishido sits down so fast that he nearly overturns the chair.

In the end Ohtori walks off with first prize. Shishido thinks that even Ohtori-san would be pleased with the huge silver cup, which is too big for Ohtori to carry easily. He doesn't complain, but he does let Shishido hold it for a while as they wander the streets looking for a ramen stand to celebrate Ohtori's win.

"I can see my face in this," teases Shishido.

"Careful it doesn't break, then," Ohtori returns cheekily. For a moment, Shishido is stunned by Ohtori's audacity -- then he laughs out loud. Ohtori's finally growing up.

"You are pleased, though?" asks Shishido. Ohtori, despite his big smile for the cameras, has looked a little down ever since his mother left.

"Of course. I'm very lucky -- my practising hasn't been going right for ages. It all came together for me today."

"Yeah, right. You're gifted -- just admit it." Shishido grins to take the bite out of his words and shifts the cup under his arm, where it pushes hard and cold against his belly.

Ohtori just ducks his head, the old blush returning full force. He hasn't grown out of _that_ yet, it seems. Shishido is oddly pleased by the fact.

"I was wondering, Shishido," says Ohtori, stumbling a bit over the words, "if you'd like -- part of the prize was two tickets to Disneyland. I thought you could come with me." He raises his pleading gaze to Shishido's face, which he has to quickly school to hide his horror at the prospect. "If you don't want to, you don't have to. My sister will just make me take her." He shrugs. Shishido can read a million words in that gesture. Who wants to go to Disneyland with his sister?

Who wants to go to Disneyland at _all_? Shishido corrects himself. Certainly not Shishido. But he can tell that Ohtori wants to -- a lot.

He swallows his repugnance. "Sure, Choutarou. Just --" he winces "-- no rollercoasters, all right?"

"Shishido is afraid of heights?" Ohtori sounds surprised. Shishido gives a tight little nod. For some reason, Ohtori looks thoughtful.

"Shishido is afraid of heights," he repeats, more softly. He nods, as if storing away a vital piece of information.

"C'mon, the ramen stall will close if you keep dawdling," says Shishido. "Even great violinists need to eat, you know."

"Especially if they're being treated," replies Ohtori slyly. Shishido just laughs and digs out his wallet.

+++

 

"What time will you be back?"

"I don't know," says Ohtori, as patiently as he can given that it's the fourth time Hideki's asked this question. "The last train is at eleven, so twelve at the latest, I suppose. We've cleared it with the dorm masters," he adds, before Hideki can object to that. Again.

"Hmph." Hideki shoulders into his pillow, dark eyes fixed on Ohtori. Ohtori hides a sigh. Hideki has been having some gruesome mood swings lately -- snapping at Ohtori for no reason until Ohtori feels tears prick the back of his eyes, but sweet as pie the next minute. Ohtori is severely regretting his decision to room with Hideki, but at least there's only a few months to go before they're juniors. Ohtori guesses that Hideki is greatly anticipating that day. Ohtori knows he is.

Ohtori starts getting changed. He planned on being ready ages ago, but Hideki hasn't stopped asking annoying questions since breakfast. At least it means that Ohtori doesn't have any more time to fret over what he's going to wear. He changed his mind every day since asking Shishido to come with him. Nearly everything he owns is too childish or too boring -- except his dress clothes, which are hardly appropriate for an amusement park.

Hideki is staring at him as he strips off his uniform trousers and steps into his black jeans. Ohtori turns his back when he changes shirts, but he can feel Hideki's angry glare on his bare skin. Getting dressed in boarding school always presented a problem for Ohtori, as he gets embarrassed about people seeing him naked. Most people are polite enough to at least not watch -- even Hideki, up until now. Ohtori longs for a screen to shield him from Hideki's gaze.

He is tying his laces when Shishido knocks on the door. The blush that started while he changed doubles in intensity as Ohtori takes in Shishido's outfit. Baggy calf-length shorts, a blue t-shirt adorned with silver writing, a jacket slung casually over his shoulders and -- wonder of wonders -- no cap. He's obviously tried to neaten his hair, but it sticks up in careless whorls and spikes.

Ohtori holds his breath in what might have been jealousy. Shishido looks so _cool_.

"Good, you're ready," says Shishido, breaking Ohtori's reverie. "We need to leave right now if we want to catch this train."

"I'll just get my money." Ohtori ties his final knot and gropes the bed for wallet. "That's funny, I could have sworn I put my wallet right here --"

"That green one, isn't it?" Shishido's eyes are narrowed, and he doesn't wait for an answer before continuing, "It looks like it's under your roomie's bed."

Ohtori follows his gaze and laughs. "How on earth did it get under there?" He drops to his knees and pulls it out, apologising to Hideki for bumping his leg. Hideki just grunts again.

"Tickets?"

Ohtori peers into his wallet. "All present. Let's go!"

"Let's," echoes Shishido, his gaze crackling and not directed at Ohtori.

Ohtori doesn't register Shishido's mood. He's too excited, and he can't help sharing his  
feelings with Shishido via a big, goofy grin.

Behind him, Hideki scowls darkly.

+++

The most horrible fact about Disneyland doesn't hit Shishido straight away. This is mainly because there are plenty of moderately horrible facts to keep him occupied in the meantime, like the hordes of children and the creeps dressed as mice and the screams from the scarier rides and the sheer, unadulterated dorkiness of the place.

Disneyland is filled with _couples_.

They loom out of every queue and crevice, taunting Shishido. He already knew that it was a mistake agreeing to come -- well, aside from the delight it inspired in his friend -- but now the mistake has taken on catastrophic proportions. It's fine for two boys to hang out in other places, but Disneyland might as well change its name to Lovers' Paradise.

Ohtori hasn't appeared to notice this dynamic -- he's purchased a map and is studying it intently, occasionally seeking Shishido's opinion on one ride or another. Shishido makes non-committal replies as a parade of couples swans by their bench. Some of them are even holding hands.

Then again, Shishido shouldn't expect Ohtori to be aware of such things. A year makes a big difference at their age.

It's not that he's worried that strangers in the crowd will think that he and Ohtori are _dating_ , or something. Who'd do that, even if they were ... into boys? True, half the locker room talk is about what the seniors used to get up to with their roommates when they were freshmen. It's okay to fool around when you're young -- not that Shishido did -- but no one is supposed to take it seriously.

He's glad that Ohtori isn't the type to experiment either. He has a feeling that Ohtori _would_ take it seriously.

He trails around after Ohtori, trying to drum up some enthusiasm for his sake. Ohtori has enough eagerness for the both of them anyway. They make an almost totally comprehensive tour of the park, excepting the rides that involve heights. Even for Ohtori, Shishido doesn't think he could shake his phobia. He's pleased that Ohtori doesn't pester him about it. He's a good kid.

It's while they're on the ghost train that Shishido realises he's not the only one with an irrational fear. From the moment they got on the ride, Ohtori has been stiff with it. When lighting-effect ghosts materialise from the darkness, Ohtori gasps. His shaking hand finds Shishido's on the safety rail and holds on tight.

Shishido wants to laugh, but Ohtori didn't when the tables were turned. He also wants to peel off Ohtori's hand, too, but then again no one can see it there. So he lets it pass, and by the end of the ride Ohtori's grip has nearly cut off his circulation.

Ohtori's hands are both loosely gripping the rail when the train emerges into the light once more. His face is waxy. Shishido decides he needs some sugar and drags him off to a candyfloss stand.

He doesn't mention the hand-holding, and Ohtori seems to have forgotten that it even happened.

Shishido doesn't.

+++

Ohtori has always thought about Shishido a lot, ever since they first became doubles partners. At first it was because he didn't know Shishido all that well, and wondered how he might react to different things. Later he had imaginary conversations with him that were, if not particularly satisfying, at least prevented him from talking Shishido's ear off every time they met. Ohtori loves to tell Shishido things, but even Shishido doesn't have an unlimited capacity for listening to babble. Ohtori prefers to keep their conversation revolving around the important things: tennis, music and food.

After the day in Disneyland, the imaginary conversations evolve. Ohtori envisages wild scenarios, where Shishido is trapped in a burning building and Ohtori is the only one who can save him. Or where they take their tennis doubles to Wimbleton and win. Or where the door to the piano rooms is accidentally locked and they have to spend the whole night there, and Ohtori staves off Shishido's boredom by playing for him. Most of the fantasies end in Shishido's bedroom -- Shishido is so grateful for whatever Ohtori has done for him that he lifts up the duvet and invites Ohtori into bed with him.

The idea of sleeping side by side with Shishido, double body warmth making everything comfortable, sends tingles through Ohtori's skin. He often starts to blush -- in the middle of the night, for crying out loud -- and that's when he switches to thinking about class or his newest piano piece.

Ohtori isn't as innocent as everyone seems to think. He's jacked off before. When he was younger he'd just lie on his tummy and rub gently against the sheets. Granted, it _was_ a while before Ohtori figured out that his own hand felt better than the friction of cloth.

He still doesn't like to do it unless he absolutely has to -- but he does know how. Even if he didn't, sharing a room with Hideki would be an education in itself. Ten minutes after lights-out Hideki is at it, every night, his breathing a harsh rasp in the darkness. Even Ohtori's iPod doesn't drown out the slick sounds completely.

If Ohtori has to, he _always_ waits until Hideki falls asleep.

+++

"Excellent, Shishido!" Ohtori's voice brims with pleasure, and he turns to face Shishido with a blinding smile. "You've really got the hang of it now. Want to try it once more?"

"Sure." Shishido shrugs, pretending to act like he doesn't care. He fails miserably due to the matching grin on his own face. He places his fingers lightly on the keys and begins to play.

Ohtori claps at the end. When Shishido sends him an arch look, Ohtori flushes but holds his gaze. "What? A good performance deserves a round of applause."

"Then I should be clapping for you," says Shishido, feeling himself start to blush for no reason at all. "It's all because of you."

"Oh, no, Shishido," protests Ohtori. "Your hard work has paid off. I only helped."

"No. All _you_." Shishido keeps his voice firm. While Ohtori is still stuck in a state of sweet confusion, Shishido stretches up a whole two inches and kisses him on the mouth.

It's an act born of pure impulse, but it wouldn't have happened with anyone but Ohtori. And maybe not even Ohtori, if one side of his body weren't touching Shishido's or if they weren't such good friends or if it weren't the only way Shishido can think of to stop Ohtori's face from dropping in annoying self-deprecation.

Ohtori's lips are soft, with a ridge of dry skin where they meet. His fingers twitch where Shishido has accidentally caught them under his thigh and he begins to tremble.

"That's to say thanks," says Shishido when he pulls back. His heart is racing, which is silly -- it was only a little thank-you kiss, like the ones he gives his mother on birthdays. So it was on the lips. So Ohtori isn't a female relative. It's still the _same_.

Ohtori touches his mouth. Wonder fills his face, and makes Shishido apprehensive.

"Listen --" his voice is sharp "-- I'd better go, okay?"

Ohtori nods and smiles. A hard, twisted knot forms in Shishido's stomach as he hurries away.

 

+++

 

Ohtori lies curled around a pillow. He can't take his mind off Shishido's kiss, hot and rough against his mouth. He hasn't been able to concentrate since he made it back -- in a daze -- from the practice rooms. He tries to tell himself that it's not a big deal -- that Shishido was just thanking him, like he said. It doesn't work. Maybe it wasn't a big deal to _Shishido_ , but it was to Ohtori.

To distract himself, Ohtori lets himself drift into a fantasy. Predictably enough, it's the one in the piano rooms. He's playing a haunting etude in the gathering dusk, as Shishido makes himself comfortable by spreading his jacket on the floor.

"We can use them for pillows," dream-Shishido says, as always. Ohtori nods as he lets himself be carried away by the music, but always held to earth by the prickle of awareness tying him to Shishido. When the piece draws to a close he looks back at Shishido, waiting for the customary praise.

Shishido has taken off his shirt as well.

Ohtori tries to backtrack, but it's too late. Shishido is smiling at him in a way that Ohtori's never seen before. His mind is filling in the blanks, knitting together glimpses of Shishido's body from over the years. When Shishido's hand moves down to his own zipper, Ohtori squeezes his eyes shut and wills away the image.

He settles on the comforting one of Shishido in bed, propping his sleepy head on his hand. But Ohtori's traitorous mind betrays him, changing the look on Shishido's face from one of drowsy benevolence to something else entirely. When he lifts up the covers for Ohtori, he's not wearing his pyjamas. He's not wearing anything at all.

"Come on, Choutarou," says Shishido, his voice gruff. He pulls Ohtori down against him and kisses him over and over, leaving Ohtori gasping in real life.

It's when he imagines Shishido slipping his tongue into Ohtori's mouth that Ohtori realises he's hard. In the middle of the evening, with all the lights on and his roommate due back any minute.

Ohtori buries a groan and his teeth in the pillow. He thinks of his mother, tennis -- no, not tennis, Shishido with a racquet, Shishido covered in sweat, Shishido's shirt rising as he jumps for the ball -- _anything_ that doesn't involve bad -- (sexy) -- no, bad thoughts about Shishido Ryou.

When he's finally calm, Hideki makes his entrance. He's quivering with rage, but Ohtori's head is so messed up that he barely notices. He does, however, notice when Hideki stands right in front of him and prods a shaking finger into his shoulder.

"What?" Ohtori isn't in the mood for one of Hideki's rants about who was supposed to

empty the wastepaper bin.

"I saw you!" hisses Hideki. " _Kissing_ that Shishido-san! You're disgusting, Ohtori-kun, that's what you are."

"Huh?" Ohtori's head is whirling now, far worse than when he was thinking about Shishido with no clothes on. "What do you mean -- were you --"

For a moment Hideki looks wrong-footed. Of course, he's not supposed to be in the music rooms -- he's not in the music club. Then again, neither is Shishido. It's not a hard and fast rule, but Hideki had no reason to be there.

"Where you following me?" accuses Ohtori.

"I was looking for you," corrects Hideki. "You -- your mother called the dorms, and the dorm master sent me to fetch you."

"Oh." Ohtori digests this. He's surprised his mother didn't ring his mobile, like she usually does. Maybe the battery has run down.

"No wonder you're always hanging off him." Hideki sneers. "Is he your boyfriend or what?"

"No! He -- it was just -- he was thanking me for teaching him piano, that's all." Even as he says it, Ohtori's heart sinks. If that's really all it was, then ... then, Ohtori is disappointed.

Because he does want it to be more.

"Huh." Hideki begins to tear off his clothes. Ohtori politely averts his eyes. He supposes he should get changed for bed, but he's still not sure he's calmed down quite enough to move.

He decides he'll visit Shishido later. Perhaps he'll still be feeling grateful. Ohtori feels his stomach squirm when he thinks that, but he can't help it.

But Shishido doesn't answer his knock. Eventually, Ohtori tries the doorknob. It's always possible that Shishido fell asleep.

The door is locked.

Ohtori feels a sharp pain deep in his chest. Why would Shishido lock the door? People only do that when they're leaving the room, not when they're already in it.

Worse is to come when he finally returns to his floor. All the lights are on, inspiring growls from those who wish to sleep. The dorm master is standing in Ohtori's room. One look at Ohtori, fully dressed and entering through the fire door, is enough.

"Grounds privileges denied for a month," sighs the dorm master. His flinty gaze adds: _You've let the side down, Ohtori._

Hideki is facing the wall. Ohtori can tell he isn't asleep. He can also tell, from the tight bands of muscle in Hideki's neck, that he's feeling guilty because he dobbed Ohtori in.

When he checks his phone, he's not even surprised to see that it's fully charged.

+++

Shishido hears Ohtori's knock and feels guilty for not answering it. But the fact is, he's got his hands down his pants at the time and there's no way in the world he's opening the door to Ohtori with his a tent in his shorts. Especially just a few hours after kissing him. Ohtori might think that Shishido is trying to seduce him or something awful like that. He'll come up with a good excuse tomorrow.

The fact is, Ohtori is also the reason why Shishido is jacking off in the first place. His soft little mouth, those long lean legs ... Shishido has been keeping his awareness of Ohtori under wraps for a while now, but kissing up opened the door to let all those feelings out in the open. It's made all the worse by Ohtori's naiveté. Shishido can tell that Ohtori bought the thank-you excuse -- hell, he did too, right up until he stepped into the shower and imagined Ohtori in there with him. Pressing him up against the wet tiles, sticking his tongue down his throat, grinding against him, robbing him of that innocence touch by touch.

He needs time to adjust, and he's not sure how to explain that to Ohtori. He's developed a bit of a crush, that's all. It'll pass in time and then they can go back to normal.

He's surprised to find Ohtori's little roommate waiting outside his room when he goes out the next morning. He can't help flushing -- he'd spent a lovely ten minutes touching himself and guiltily imagining it was Ohtori's hand he was guiding before he got up.

There's a nasty look on the kid's face, too. Shishido hopes Ohtori hasn't been stuck in with a bully, but he's sure Ohtori would have told him if that were the case.

"You're a pervert," says the boy.

Shishido has heard politer greetings. He decides to return it in kind. "Get out of my way, asshole."

"You're a pervert and by the end of the day everyone else will know it too." The boy sticks his face right up into Shishido's. Shishido has to admire his bravery, misplaced as it is. "You'd better stay away from Ohtori from now on."

"Whatever, kid." Shishido brushes him off, rather amused.

An hour later he is far from amused. He is burning with rage -- and guilt.

Gossip about him and Ohtori is swamping the school like a tidal wave. Their little kiss has evolved in the telling until it's a steamy make-out session, complete with unbuttoned shirts, heavy petting and all the details the yaoi-centric core care to add. Shishido has been the recipient of catcalls, jeers and lewd remarks since first period.

When he sees Ohtori's roommate at lunch, Shishido wastes no time in pasting him up against a tree. "It was you, wasn't it?" he growls.

"Get your hands off me, or I'll cry rape." The boy is incredibly calm, and incredibly evil. Shishido lets him go.

"I warned you to stay away from Ohtori." The boy's face is full of twisted triumph. "You didn't listen. Are you listening now?"

Shishido glares. The boy meets his gaze, stone for fire. "Yeah, I'm listening."

"Then here's what you'd better do," says the boy. "For your sake. But mostly for Ohtori's."

+++

Ohtori is still worried about Shishido when he plays a ranking match the next day. To his surprise, he wins. He barely registers the fact that he's been made a Regular until an amused Atobe points him to the Regulars' clubhouse when he leaves to change.

Most of the other Regulars are running laps for some time infraction or other. Shishido enters last. Ohtori tries not to feel hurt that Shishido neither congratulates him nor even comes near him, instead choosing a changing spot at the other side of the room. Ohtori immediately begins to fret that he's done something to offend his quick-tempered friend. All he comes up with is the kiss, which can't be it -- Shishido instigated it, after all.

"Ohtori-kun!" Mukahi slings an arm around Ohtori's neck, dragging himself to his tiptoes to do so. "It's great to have you back. Everyone else is immune to my teasing."

"So am I," protests Ohtori, earning himself a disbelieving snort from Mukahi. Mukahi swings his hair out of his eyes and smirks at Shishido.

"So, I heard you and Shishido were making out in the piano rooms yesterday," he says, loudly enough to be heard in Timbuktu. "Congratulations on _finally_ getting it together. I've had a bet on with Yuushi since middle school --"

 

"What did you say?" Shishido's voice is low and dangerous, but it carries just as well as Mukahi's in the sudden silence.

Mukahi drops his arm and retreats a step, even though Shishido hasn't moved. "What's wrong, Shishido-kun? Was it in a different room?"

"Don't be fucking stupid," snarls Shishido. "As if I would do something so -- so filthy."

He slams his locker shut and stalks out, but not without first throwing a scathing look at Ohtori.

Ohtori is suddenly standing in the middle of his own personal Ice Age.

"Geez, someone's touchy today," remarks Mukahi -- but not, Ohtori notes, until the door behind Shishido is well and truly shut. "Did he get his period, Ohtori-kun?"

Ohtori tries to speak, but it feels like his lips have been frozen shut. To his horror, tears build behind his eyes. He blinks rapidly, trying to stop them, but more only well in their place.

"Don't worry," says a soft voice in his ear. Jiroh's arms come around Ohtori's neck and he rests his forehead against Ohtori's back. When did Jiroh get so tall? "Shishido's an ass, but he'll get over it."

Ohtori manages to nod, his hands over his eyes to soak up the leaks. Vaguely, he hears Atobe clearing everyone out of the changing rooms. "No, Kabaji, leave Jiroh today."

After a long while, Ohtori realises that Jiroh has fallen asleep against his back, and that all his tears are gone.

"He kissed _me_ ," says Ohtori stupidly. Jiroh comes awake with a yawn.

"I know," replies Jiroh quietly. "That's why he's scared."

+++

The hurt confusion on Ohtori's face cut Shishido to the quick. If it weren't for the fact that Hideki had insisted that saying it was the only way to dispel the rumours, Shishido would have bailed instantly. But Hideki is a scary little shit despite his puny appearance, and Shishido would never do anything to compromise his friend's reputation. Even if it means temporarily damaging their friendship.

Because Shishido isn't about to let this continue indefinitely. He'll corner Ohtori somewhere private -- in the piano rooms, maybe -- and explain everything to him. He'll probably keep Hideki's name out of it, though. Ohtori still has to room with the guy. Shishido isn't about to poison the air between them while they share living space.

Yet when he gets back to his room a nasty surprise is awaiting him. Shishido doesn't recognise the dorm master in question, but he knows the uniform well. At first Shishido thinks he's come to confiscate a hot plate or check that Shishido vacuumed the floor. Shishido is polite and affable as he can be, right up until the dorm master starts talking about Ohtori. After that Shishido gets a bit dizzy, what with words like 'bullying', 'coercion,' 'same sex relationships' and 'frowned upon' being thrown around. He can't even get enough of a grip to dispute what the dorm master is implying -- to tell him that it was nothing, barely half a step up from a hug, no different from kissing his brother (not that he _would_ \-- disgusting).

"I think you'll agree it's best if you kept your distance from Ohtori-kun for the foreseeable future," finishes the dorm master. "I understand that he tutors you in piano and that you were doubles partners in the tennis club. Obviously he has an attachment to you, which is probably why he hasn't reported you for inappropriate behaviour. It is up to you to do the right thing."

"The right thing," echoes Shishido numbly.

+++

Ohtori used to love hard candies when he was younger. His mother warned him that he'd break his teeth, and Ohtori nodded solemnly and ate them anyway.

One day he broke a tooth, just like she said. He had to get it removed. It was painful when the jagged edges jolted at every movement or brushed his tongue. It was painful getting a needle in his gum. It was painful waiting as the tender skin scarred over.

But one day it didn't hurt any more.

Ohtori isn't sure where he's at right now -- whether Shishido is the broken tooth, the needle or the empty socket. All he knows is that he's in pain and it's not going away.

Every new snub hits him with a new shock of hurt. Atobe tells him that he'll be playing doubles with Mukahi for a while, because Shishido and the tensai want to try their hand at singles. Ohtori presses, and reluctantly Atobe concedes that Shishido asked for it to be that way.

That stings.

Ohtori waits in the piano room for three consecutive nights, wondering each time if Shishido forgot the last. The faint throbbing escalates into a full-blown burn when he finally admits to himself that Shishido isn't coming any more.

That _really_ stings.

But these things he could handle, these things he could adapt to -- if Shishido wasn't so determined to exorcise every last remnant of their friendship. There are valid reasons for Shishido wanting to return to his singles spot (even though he said once that they were going to take back doubles one, didn't he?) or to discontinue his piano lessons (despite his fulsome gratitude to Ohtori for providing them). It's even possible that Shishido, careless as he is, simply forgot to mention those salient facts to Ohtori.

What isn't right is that Shishido is avoiding him. Not even being a bit distant or thoughtless, as he often is, but literally ignoring Ohtori -- brushing off his attempts at conversation, walking in the other direction when he sees Ohtori approaching, looking away when their eyes meet across crowded school corridors.

That hurts so much that Ohtori can barely breathe for thinking of it.

He sleepwalks through spring, passing exams and playing tennis and practising music all on autopilot. He stops going home at weekends, preferring to lie on his bed in Hyoutei and let his mind drift to the past.

Hideki is abrasively cheerful these days. He seems to have entirely got over his dose of the grumps, and keeps trying to get Ohtori to come out with his raucous art friends. Ohtori refuses, at first politely, and later with a mute shake of the head and blazing eyes. He's lost a friend, but he's in no hurry to fill Shishido's place with stupid painters -- or even, as Hideki suggests, a girlfriend.

No, Ohtori doesn't want a girlfriend. He wants Shishido. This realisation comes to him on one of the sultry Saturday afternoons, when the air is so still it feels like time has stopped. Ohtori wakes up from a fitful doze and a fragmented dream wherein he and Shishido are playing tennis in the desert, dripping with heat. He opens his mouth in a silent moan of remembrance -- waking is daily torture -- and his heart contracts as he wishes for Shishido to appear at the door.

Preferably naked.

If they'd still been friends, Ohtori would have quashed his longings firmly and totally. If they'd still been friends, Ohtori probably would have been able to convince himself that what he was feeling was friendly regard. But they're not friends, Shishido has seen to that, so Ohtori is free to feel whatever angry, aching need he chooses.

It is his anger that fuels him to break through the modesty of his own brain, which is always trying to hide away the naughtier images. In defiance of Shishido and of himself, he lets his imagination roam free. Soon his nights are panting, fevered messes and his mornings sticky. He ignores Hideki's traumatised stares and begins to choke out Shishido's name as he comes. His finger learn quickly to tug hard and squeeze harder.

Without quite deciding to, Ohtori explores his own body further. He kicks away his pyjama pants and rubs his thighs, trails fingers along his belly, brushes circles of fire in ever descending circles.

At first he just imagines that Shishido's hand is his own, touching and fondling him with daring agility. Soon, it's not enough. He has to imagine doing it _to_ Shishido instead -- and the image is enough to make him hard at any time of the day. Shishido below him, straining and gasping his name as Ohtori pins his wrists down and brushes his palm over the head of his cock? Oh, yes, that is enough for a long time.

Other boys profess great knowledge of the female parts, but Ohtori knows with grim certainty that their wisdom is not first-hand. Hideki has a few magazines under his bed. He hasn't troubled to hide them from Ohtori, although he never actually looks at them when Ohtori is around. The big-breasted women leave Ohtori unmoved, but there are lists of the sister publications on the back pages. It's simple to charge a few orders to his emergency credit card. If challenged, Ohtori plans to say it was stolen.

The first time Ohtori pages through gay pornography, he feels sick to his stomach. He doesn't jack off for days, remembering too well the utter realism of the graphic pictures. He's convinced that he's got it wrong -- that he doesn't feel that way towards Shishido at all.

But the writhing bodies are imprinted on his brain and they creep out when he nears sleep, encouraging him to move his hand down. By the time he wakes up Ohtori decides to have another look. While shocked and not a little disgusted, there's undeniably now a part of Ohtori that is also deeply fascinated.

Maybe it didn't have to turn out like this, but it did. If getting hot from looking at two guys sucking each other off is the only thing Ohtori can salvage from the situation, then so be it.

In the meantime, life goes on. Ohtori has a geography paper due, but by the time he remembers it's Sunday. The library is closed. He manages to come up with a decent outline, but there's a lot of points that require verification. His gaze lights on Hideki's little-used laptop. Hideki is out for the day, staging a protest at a modern art gallery or whatever it is he does for fun. Ohtori is pretty sure Hideki won't mind if Ohtori uses his internet connection, but he doesn't really care if he does. Ohtori misses the gloomy Hideki who barely spoke two words to him -- the happy, bouncy Hideki is a crime against nature.

Hideki is logged in and Ohtori absently clicks on the desktop icon while he reaches over for his notes. He realises he's accidentally gone into Hideki's email when he sees the list of subject lines, and is about to x out when he spots his own name among them.

An icy finger runs down Ohtori's spine as the cursor blinks over the email from Hideki to his brother, the dorm master. He wants to smash the laptop into tiny little pieces, but he  
reigns himself in.

Smashing Hideki's head in would be far the better option.

+++

Shishido flexes his fingers. He probably shouldn't have practised so long last night, but working on piano pieces without Ohtori is like trying to read Braille with a fork. He can't figure out if he's getting better or worse -- worse, probably -- or what he should do next, but he keeps going to the practice rooms because he can't bear not to.

"Still running in the singles practices?" asks Atobe, as he does every week. Shishido nods. Atobe sighs. Shishido thinks that this isn't _entirely_ because Shishido has managed to single-handedly destroy the most successful doubles team Hyoutei has had in a long time. No one can use intuition the way Atobe does and not remain entirely attuned to the dynamics between his players.

There has been a barely discernable split in the team since he and Ohtori 'broke up' -- as Mukahi insists on putting it. Jiroh is firmly on Ohtori's side, Atobe on Shishido's, and from there the other Regulars range in loyalty. Shishido knows that this annoys Atobe more than the rift itself, but Atobe is the only one Shishido told about the dorm master's warning. Atobe knows there is nothing Shishido can do. _Shishido_ knows there is nothing Shishido can do. It doesn't mean that Shishido doesn't feel like banging his head against a locker most every day out of pure, miserable frustration.

So it is that when Ohtori stalks into the clubroom with one eye swelling shut, blood oozing from a cut on his neck and clumps of his own hair stuck to his jacket Shishido can't help but exclaim, " _Choutarou_!" His reflex is instantaneous, and he forgets that he's no longer entitled to call Ohtori that.

His remark is lost under the barrage of inquiries from the rest of the team, however. Oshitari sends Mukahi bounding away for the first aid kit, despite the fact that Ohtori brushes off his concern with something like impatience. He also ignores Atobe's imperious inquiry as to what the hell Ohtori thinks he was doing, his gaze scanning the room as if he's looking for someone.

When his eyes stop on Shishido -- sitting stock still with his socks clutched to his chest -- Shishido quails at the fire in those normally placid brown pools. Even Kabaji steps back as Ohtori walks towards Shishido. Shishido only thinks to speak when Ohtori's hand is curling into his shirtfront, and by then it's too late. Ohtori yanks him to his feet. Shishido closes his eyes and waits for the blow.

It doesn't come, but the lips that graze his with fierce tenderness are almost more jarring. Shishido opens his eyes again in shock, trying to ignore the way his body wants to wrap itself around Ohtori and not let go for about a century.

Ohtori releases him so suddenly that Shishido stumbles back against a locker. He's not looking at Shishido when he announces, cool as anything, "You all saw that, right? You saw that _I_ kissed him? Because _I_ wanted to?" He glares at the other Regulars, who suddenly start bobbing their heads like a flock of pigeons. "Good." Ohtori spins to face Atobe. Shishido would swear that Atobe flinched. Ohtori bows. "Please excuse me, fukubuchou. I must go to the nurse. I will return as soon as she is done."

"For goodness' sake, Ohtori," snaps Atobe. "Take this practice off. Don't do it again, you hear?"

"No," says Ohtori meekly. "I will not need to, Atobe-san."

Atobe just flutters his fingers at the door and mutters something that sounds like: "Kabaji,  
a large whiskey."

"Does this mean you're his girlfriend now?" Mukahi bounces over to Shishido, nearly crowning him with the first aid kit.

"I don't think so," returns Shishido, and wonders at the bleakness in his own voice.

+++

Right in the middle of the Moonlight Sonata, Ohtori's skin tightens. He knows right away he's being watched, but he doesn't allow himself to falter. In fact he shows off a little -- letting his body sway with the crescendos, leaning in deeply for the pianissimos.

He's not quite prepared for the applause. It's been so long since he's heard it.

"Hey," says Shishido, sliding on to the stool beside him.

"Hey," replies Ohtori. He's feeling shy now that Shishido is _right here_ , and his adrenaline rush long since faded. In the end Ohtori didn't go to the nurse, and neither did Hideki. Hideki got some bandaids and rubbing alcohol from his brother, and they cleaned themselves up as best they could on their own.

"So," starts Shishido, when the silence has wound out long enough to be uncomfortable, "I guess I owe you an explanation."

"I know what Hideki said to you. He told me. You -- you can't be blamed for doing what you did." Ohtori's voice dips because in fact, he does blame Shishido a little.

Shishido appears to agree, for he is shaking his head. "No, I ... I shouldn't have just dropped you without telling you why first. I reckon you would've understood."

Ohtori makes a 'mmm' noise. For one thing, Ohtori would immediately have considered Hideki's involvement in the whole affair suspicious; after that, who knows? He wouldn't have let Shishido go without a fight, but that could have turned nasty. At least Ohtori knows what he wants now.

Shishido's fingers play a nervous little arpeggio. "Are we friends now?"

"No." At Shishido's bewildered look, Ohtori adds, "Don't you get it? I don't want to be your friend, Shishido."

"Oh." Shishido snatches his hand back as if the piano had just caught fire, and uses it to scrub through his hair. "You're still angry, then."

"It's not that." Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Ohtori rests his fingertips on Shishido's jaw and turns his face. "I want to be _more_ than your friend." He presses his mouth to Shishido's -- a mere peck, but enough to send Ohtori's pulse racing faster than his Scud serve. "I want to do things to you," he whispers, his lips wet on Shishido's jaw. "I want to -- fuck you." He can't help that his voice catches a little on the word.

"Choutarou!" gasps Shishido, but he's not pushing Ohtori away. "Since when do you --"

"I had a lot of time to think." Ohtori shrugs. His face is still warm from confessing to  
Shishido, but it's nothing to Shishido's fiery blush. He didn't even know that Shishido _could_ blush.

"A-ah." Shishido stares down at where his fingers have become tangled with Ohtori's. "I'm not sure -- I mean, I missed you -- but --"

Ohtori disengages his hand and puts it on the piano. He plays a C scale from the one end of the keyboard to another, counting the notes so he doesn't have to think about Shishido's rejection.

"Hey." Shishido nudges Ohtori's thigh with his knee. "Look at me, Choutarou. I can't think who else I'd want to -- you know -- with." At that, Ohtori does meet his gaze with a smile. Even Shishido's nose is red. "But, like, I don't know if I'm ready to -- well. Do things."

"Fifty," says Ohtori suddenly. "Fifty days is seven weeks, right?"

"Yeah." Shishido worries at a loose thread in his jacket. "It's been too long, Choutarou."

Ohtori can't hold in a smile. He hasn't been the only one counting, then. "Fifty days -- fifty white keys. That's how long I've wanted you. I'll give you fifty days, Shishido. If you don't like me back by then, you never will."

Shishido's mouth crooks up. "You've changed."

"I didn't have a choice."

"No." Shishido's voice hardens. "But I did. You gave me fifty days to like you, Choutarou -- but I'll give you fifty days to make it up to you."

"I said it was okay," protests Ohtori.

"That's because you're basically a really good guy," says Shishido, and Ohtori isn't  
imagining the way his voice softens. "I _need_ to do this, you understand."

"Well." Ohtori finds Shishido's hand and lifts it to the ivories. "You can start by showing me how much worse you've got since our last lesson."

+++

Shishido lies on Ohtori's bed with Ohtori beside him, running through geometry problems. As Shishido explains the theorems Ohtori nods, sucking in his lower lip in concentration and nodding occasionally. It's when Shishido absently taps his pen against the pillow and Ohtori's eyes follow the movement that Shishido realises it's not maths that Ohtori is paying attention to.

It's been a week. Shishido has done a little something for Ohtori every day: fetching him new manuscripts for music class, carrying his books in the hall, re-binding his racquet with grip tape. Today it's tutoring in what is arguably Ohtori's worst subject: maths. He sometimes gets Cs in it. Shishido heard once that music and maths were closely connected and to be good at one you had to be good at the other. Ohtori's clearly an exception.

Ohtori sees Shishido's raised eyebrows and ducks his head. "Sorry, Shishido." Shishido begins to smile but stops suddenly when Ohtori adds, softly, "You have such beautiful fingers."

Shishido's stomach tightens. Ohtori is so earnest, so transparent. "Ohtori," says Shishido, "what are you going to do if I ... say no?"

Ohtori's eyes widen like Shishido told him his father just died. He hides it with a little laugh and leans in. "I guess I'd do this." He nuzzles his lips into the corner of Shishido's mouth, his cheek brushing the beginnings of Shishido's stubble. "And then I'd run away, and hope you were still my friend."

"Oh, really?" Shishido turns his head ever so slightly. "So you wouldn't do ... this?" His mouth finds Ohtori's -- it hasn't gone far -- and latches on.

Shishido hasn't been kissed all that often. A few times at parties and family gatherings, but that's it. He's still not sure where everything goes, but he makes little rubbing movements against Ohtori's mouth and hopes he's doing okay. Ohtori's gasps suggest that he is. When Ohtori's mouth falls open under his, it freaks Shishido out for a second. Then he feels wetness gliding over the tingling nerve endings rounding his lip. He realises Ohtori's tongue is in his mouth. They're making out on Ohtori's bed and suddenly Shishido's skin is hot all over.

Ohtori breaks off and leans on his hand, panting. His lips are a little swollen and it's all Shishido can do to not to lean across and start over. But they have homework, and a disapproving roommate due back any minute. Besides, this might mean Shishido is saying yes ... and then what?

He retrieves his pen for something to do. It's gone under the pillow. When Shishido slides his hand after it, he encounters cool glossy paper. A magazine. A _dirty_ magazine, on closer inspection.

He expects Ohtori to blush at the discovery, especially given that there are naked men romping on the cover and several well thumbed, suspiciously wrinkled pages. But Ohtori just grins into his ear and whispers, "Do you want to borrow it?"

Shishido wonders later if Ohtori put it there on purpose.

 

+++

 

"It's me," says Ohtori, in answer to Shishido's sleepy mumble. He slips through the door and pushes it back, but not far enough to close.

"Wha'? Choutarou?" Shishido sits up in bed and knuckles his eyes. His hair is all on end. Ohtori thinks he looks like a startled porcupine. Then Ohtori's eyes move down to where Shishido's sleeping shirt is crumpled up against his chest -- revealing a broad swathe of bare skin -- and he stops thinking about small mammals altogether.

"I thought I could stay over." Ohtori speaks the words quickly, before he loses his nerve. He knows he's playing with fire, but he also knows that Hideki owes him one. Although Ohtori hasn't spoken one word to his roommate since he punched his lights out, Hideki was watching as Ohtori rolled his uniform into a blanket after bed check. Hideki _will_ cover for him in the morning.

None of it matters if Shishido doesn't want him there, of course. Ohtori tries to explain his plan, to show Shishido the blanket, and ask for a pillow he can put on the floor. Unfortunately, the sight of Shishido -- half-awake and somewhat grumpy -- has struck Ohtori dumb, and not because he's afraid of invoking Shishido's legendary post-slumber ire. No, Shishido's loose t-shirt, the glint of skin as he tosses back the covers, the curiously vulnerable curve of his neck -- these are the things stopping Ohtori's tongue. These are the things making him look like a stammering fool in front of the person he most wants to impress in all the world.

"Slumber party?" mumbles Shishido, his words cut in half by a yawn. "G'on, then."  
And he holds out the covers to invite Ohtori in.

For a moment Ohtori can't move. He longs to pinch himself, to see if he's simply fallen into his favourite fantasy and is really tucked up in his own bed, three stories above. Shishido rolls his eyes, combining the move with a yawn. The result is somewhat psychotic.

"Get _in_ , Choutarou," he says. His voice still wavers from tiredness, but Ohtori isn't about to wait for Shishido to wake up properly. Not when everything he's ever wanted is being offered to him right here.

His limbs feel clumsy as he arranges them: bending first one knee, then the other, and levering himself down. Shishido throws the covers over the two of them -- leaving Ohtori with a mouthful of cotton -- and flops his arm across Ohtori's waist before Ohtori has a chance to do it first to him.

"I was planning to sleep on the floor," whispers Ohtori.

"You were not." Shishido burrows his head into the pillow and lets his eyes flutter closed.

Ohtori flushes, but happily -- Shishido read Ohtori's mind. What's more, he liked what he saw.

There's very little spare room in the single bed, but Shishido doesn't seem to mind as Ohtori tentatively snuggles closer. Before the end of ten minutes Shishido's knees are tucked against his chest, fenced by Ohtori's. The arm on Ohtori's waist goes lax with sleep. Shishido's head lolls against Ohtori's jaw, gossamer strands getting in Ohtori's mouth. With the excuse of brushing them away, Ohtori threads his fingers through Shishido's hair. It feels gorgeous, light and silky -- so very at odds with Shishido's tough outer demeanour.

Listening to Shishido's sleep noises -- soft, wet little sighs and the occasional stuttering snore -- is to Ohtori a pearl beyond price. Yes, his back is cramping from being curled around Shishido. True, his foot is going to sleep long before him. No, Shishido's sheets don't exactly smell of pine forests or bluebells. Yet for all that, Ohtori feels warm and content. There's no place he'd rather be.

+++

Shishido rather expected there to be some spooning during the night. That's what always happens in movies, isn't it? The lovers end up stuck together like a bunch of puppies in a basket, and they wake the next morning with the sun spilling in the windows and big smiles on their faces.

The reality is somewhat different. Ohtori ended up rolling away from him in the night, not towards him. Half his body is hanging off the bed and his face is smushed into the pillow. The closed curtains make the small room hot, dark and redolent of feet. Shishido isn't in the slightest bit inclined to smile in the mornings -- even on a morning when Ohtori is sprawled across his bed like an oversized plushie, the back of his hair ruffled up and knotty.

Okay, so maybe Shishido smiles a little bit. But it's still nothing like a picture-perfect morning. Shishido climbs over Ohtori to get out of bed, when prodding, shaking and finally shouting his name produce no results. His suitemate has used up all the hot water and left a rim of shaving foam and stubble in the sink. The only thing that saves the morning is returning to find that his bed is already made, with perfect hospital corners and the sheet turned over the top of the duvet.

Ohtori is crouched on the floor when Shishido opens the door of the interconnecting bathroom. Even after being bundled up all night, Ohtori still manages to make his uniform look crisp and freshly ironed. Maybe it's just the way his tall frame stretches the fabric, pulling it tightly over firm, shifting muscles.

Shishido shakes his head, trying to clear it of his massively divergent thoughts. At first he thinks that Ohtori is tidying away Shishido's clothes -- there's already a folded pile on the end of his bed that he knows wasn't there before. (Shishido doesn't fold things; he's genetically incapable of so doing.) His assumption is put to the lie when Ohtori surreptitiously brings a fold of grey cloth to his nose and sniffs it.

Going tomato-red, Shishido darts back into the bathroom. As a cover he loudly clatters his suitemate's aftershave bottles -- of which there are about twenty, stacked in height order. Although one part of him cannot believe he really saw what he just did -- reserved, proper Ohtori of all people! -- another is oddly aroused. The latter part is certainly the more vociferous, and goes to such lengths to get Shishido's attention that he eventually has to take another -- icy cold -- shower.

When Shishido emerges, his wet hair dribbling on to his neck, Ohtori is fixing his tie in the mirror. He has a tongue-out, furrowed-brow look of concentration on his face that would have been terribly cute if Shishido ever thought words like cute, which he doesn't.

There is no sign of the boxers that Shishido wore last night and shucked off prior to having his first shower of the morning. Ohtori's face is as bright as a button and categorically guilt-free. If he were a less suspicious person, and if he didn't know Ohtori as well as he did, Shishido would have been entirely taken in. He doesn't call Ohtori on it, though.

They part ways at the end of the corridor. It's nearly the end of term and morning tennis practices are a thing of the past. They both have different dining halls -- Hyoutei is too large not to stagger meals by year. Shishido suggests meeting up after class. Ohtori bobs his head and says he'd like that.

There are forty-five minutes between the end of classes and the beginning of study hall and club activities. This is the time most people use for shopping trips and dates outside of school grounds. Even people who have no interest in either usually spend the time outside, relaxing, before consigning themselves to an evening in the library or clubhouse. Thus Shishido doesn't really expect to find Ohtori in his room right after school, but as he had to pick up his spare racquet anyway he thinks he'll check before searching for Ohtori elsewhere.

The door to Ohtori's room is slightly ajar. The cleaners leave them that way after vacuuming every day. Shishido puts his hand to the door, about to push it further open and stick his head around, when he catches sight of Ohtori.

His friend is kneeling on his bed with his teeth clenched, every muscle in his neck rippling like the strings of piano. For a stunned moment Shishido fears that Ohtori is in grave pain, before Ohtori throws back his head and smiles.

Shishido's eyes widen with heated realisation. He feels like a bee stuck in a honeypot, for it seems to take an age to get from Ohtori's panting mouth to where his hands are busy between his legs.

Ohtori is still mostly clothed. His school shirt is unbuttoned and slipping off his shoulders. He has two nipples -- one on either side. They are flat and the colour of milky coffee. There are deep lines carved into his chest and belly. His hips jut out in creamy peaks, casting long shadows. His trousers are pushed down around his knees, and Shishido can see the swell of his thigh muscles holding his legs apart. Slightly higher up -- Shishido's eyes widen -- he can see a crumple of grey material. Yet Ohtori Choutarou owns nothing but the whitest of white briefs. Shishido may or may not have noticed this fact in the changing rooms.

The realisation that Ohtori has been walking around all day wearing Shishido's dirty boxers makes Shishido's trousers tighter than a high tension racquet string.

Jacking off is a fact of life. Shishido knows this. He's been visited by the urge to indulge at far less appropriate times: in the middle of tennis matches (quite often with Ohtori), in class, even once -- horrifically -- at his mother's dinner table. But what he's watching now isn't a hasty, frantic route to relief. It's Ohtori, pleasuring himself. There's a world of difference, at least from where Shishido's standing, with a bulge in his own trousers that's getting more painful by the second.

One of Ohtori's hands is running up and down his chest, pausing to finger his nipples. The other is just barely stroking his cock, plucking at the head in a movement that looks an awful lot like he's playing a pianissimo decrescendo. One, twice, he rubs his knuckles along the underside. He lets out a breathy sigh every time he does this, like it feels almost unbearably good. Shishido has never touched himself this slowly, but he can guess. Ohtori's obviously been here for a while, because his hair is in sweatcurls, and his chest hazed with moisture.

Shishido shoves his hand against his crotch, trying to stop his own cock from joining the party. Ohtori starts rocking into his own hand, emitting little moans that sound like 'Oh.' Shishido frowns. No. He's saying 'Ryou.'

Shishido freezes. Ohtori has managed to drop the -san, which Shishido's never mentioned for fear Ohtori will add it right back on again. But Ryou? He's _never_ heard that name cross Ohtori's lips.

Until now.

Shishido backs away from the door on cat feet. When he gets far enough, he runs. He passes several people on the stairs, who have enough sense to flatten themselves against the wall as he approaches. For his own part, Shishido manages to untuck his shirt so that it covers his all-too-obvious erection.

When he gets back to his own room, he locks the bedroom door and shoves a chair under the handle of the bathroom door for good measure. With fingers that might have been trembling slightly, he draws Ohtori's magazine out from under his mattress, where it's been covered in brown paper and shoved into an old t-shirt. None of this would have helped if anyone found it and just opened it up, but Shishido feels that he has to at least make a pretence of concealment.

Shishido liked how it felt to kiss Ohtori. He also likes pretending that it's Ohtori's hand, sliding up and down his erection while he says stupid things like 'You're so _big_ ' and maybe even puts it in his mouth for a while. Then there's the magazine, where guys are doing all sorts of perverted things to each other and making Shishido's stomach squirm like a snakepit. The link between the two is what Shishido is prepared to let Ohtori do to him. It would be unfair to keep kissing Ohtori, or tell him that he _loves_ him -- maybe he does, though, but not in any stupid, girly way -- if Shishido gets all prissy about the sex side of it.

Taking a deep breath, Shishido opens the magazine to what he would have called his favourite image, if he'd dared. He unzips his trousers, thinks for a minute, then takes them off altogether. He plants his feet on the edges of the bed, already feeling funny about opening himself up so wide. The air purls cool against his hidden places. Shishido wraps one hand around himself. He has to be careful not to squeeze too hard; if he even so much as thinks about what he's just seen he'll come on the spot, and he needs more time.

The magazine doesn't spare its viewers a single detail, although to be fair neither of the men in question look like they're objecting. The grimace of the man on top is a little too close to Ohtori's most recent expression, so Shishido shifts his gaze to the man's fingers. Shishido gulps, as he's done every time he's forced himself to truly look at what they are doing. As usual, a jolt passes through him -- half thrill, half fear.

Still keeping a comforting hand on his cock, Shishido slips his other hand behind. He lets one fingertip graze the tiny opening back there. He has to stop himself from snatching it back again, out of shame and fear. But he's Shishido Ryou. He's not about to back down from a little pain -- or even a lot of pain -- when something he wants lies at the end of it.

And he does want Ohtori, he knows that much. Even if he'll never be able to say it properly. Even if there'll never be cherry blossoms in Ohtori's hair when Shishido finally makes him his. Even if there's no thunderbolt or flurry of pink hearts or elegant speeches.

So he puts his hand back down there and pushes the finger past the tight ring of muscles. It is a hot and intimate pain that ranks right up there with getting hit with a tennis ball at two hundred Ks an hour, though in theory Shishido can't understand why. He leaves his finger in place while he remembers to breathe, and tries not to think how bad this grating friction will feel when something as large as Ohtori's long, slender cock is trying to get inside.

When he finally slides it back out he can't bear to try again right away, so he lets his mind drift as his other hand moves up and down. When he comes he's thinking of Ohtori, and how crazily hot he looked. Perhaps they can just do this for a while, together. Or Ohtori can drug Shishido beforehand and then fuck him while he's too doped to feel the pain.  
But no, he can't give up this easily. Shishido is stubborn and hard-headed and a lot of people have said these traits will bring him to grief one day. This appears to be that day.

Gloomily, and with hands still slippery, Shishido pushes his index finger back inside. To his surprise, it goes in far easier now. He gets as far as his knuckle without feeling anything worse than a throbbing stretching sensation. His brain is foggy from arousal and it takes a good few seconds to realise that his come eased the way. When he does he almost laughs out loud. Of course -- lubrication! They were talking about it only the other day in physics. Shishido is new to all of this, but from what he's seen in the magazine he's willing to bet that someone somewhere sells stuff that does the job properly, and on purpose.

Now that the pain factor is all but gone, Shishido experimentally wiggles his finger. From Ohtori's point of view Shishido can see the attraction, but it's not doing much for Shishido. Still, it doesn't _hurt_ now. That's the main thing. If he can fit a few fingers up there, then Ohtori's cock shouldn't pose a problem. All a bit stupid and uncomfortable, but if Ohtori enjoys it ...

Shishido's wrist is starting to cramp from the odd angle, so he lifts his hips a bit to draw his finger out. He's at the second knuckle when he bends it to speed up the process. Suddenly the world is all dark angles and fiery shooting pleasure. Shishido's muscles loosen and he collapses back to the bed. His finger slams into that spot again. Shishido lets out a startled shout, but his body is one step ahead of him. His fingernail scratches against the sensitive skin and his knees start to tremble. In seconds he's come for a second time, hard and all over his school shirt.

"Choutarou," whimpers Shishido, because it's the only word his brain remembers.

He eventually gets to tennis practice, bringing along a book Ohtori wanted to borrow and an apology for his no-show earlier. He's nothing if not disciplined, so he doesn't think his tennis is worse than usual because every five minutes heat twists in his belly like he wants Ohtori's fingers to twist inside him. Shishido is stronger than that.

He's also, by the end a trip to the pharmacy and a sleepless night, up to three fingers.

+++

Ohtori finds a folded note in his locker. _Stay over_? it reads. It's scribbled on a bit of torn-off notepaper, grubby from handling and with the tail end of a chemical equation on the other side. Ohtori treasures it like a Shakespearean sonnet on the original manuscript.

There's only one week left of Ohtori's freshman year. At this stage he doesn't even care if he gets caught, but why bother when Hideki still owes him a debt of honour? In his heart Ohtori will never forgive his roommate for what he did, but with his mouth he says the words. It's sad, the way Hideki brightens. He bobs his head like a dog and says of course, he'll tell the dorm master that Ohtori went to an early piano practice tomorrow morning.

Shishido is awake and waiting, a torch planted in the middle of a nest of blankets like a bouquet. The side of his mouth tugs up at the sight of Ohtori, although he tries to hide it. He untangles his legs and makes room for Ohtori on the mattress, and Ohtori feels his heart turn over and nearly choke him.

He kisses Shishido because he senses Shishido wants him to, but mostly because _Ohtori_ wants to. Shishido's mouth is warm and yielding. He can't stop a faint tremor when Ohtori's tongue finds his and his hands clench slightly on Ohtori's arms. Ohtori doesn't mind at all, because he's not exactly the posterboy for cool and collected at that moment. He's too hungry for more. He moans in disapproval when Shishido draws away.

"D'you want ..." Shishido's eyes are shy in the torchlight. He looks as if he'd like a cap to hide under. His fingers slip between the buttons on Ohtori's pyjama shirt, brushing the hot skin underneath. Ohtori feels his cock grow full and heavy and he's embarrassed by his lack of control.

Shishido can't seem to finish his question. He wriggles back a little and pulls his own shirt over his head. Ohtori watches the golden-washed muscles move with something close to asphyxiation. There are wisps of dark hair under Shishido's arms, a trail of it down his tummy. Ohtori wants to rub his face against them. He thinks this is probably totally uncool.

Shishido's hands are back at Ohtori's buttons. Ohtori realises he's closed his eyes, but he doesn't open them until he feels the hesitant fingers start to move. When Shishido is halfway down Ohtori finds his need and starts to help him, ripping the buttons out so fast he catches up to Shishido's fingers in a matter of seconds.

Their hands twist together. Shishido uses his grasp to pull them down so they're lying chest to chest. The torch falls to the floor and rolls away. A loop of light on the wall allows Ohtori to clearly see the way air is shuddering in and out of Shishido's mouth and the edge of his shoulder, but not much else.

Ohtori nuzzles around till he finds Shishido's mouth, accidentally kissing his ear and neck and hair along the way. Shishido's hands convulse against his bare belly, then spread out to hold his hip. When their mouths meet Ohtori dissolves. His tongue sinks straight into Shishido's mouth and he grinds mindlessly, wrapping his arms around Shishido to hold him tight.

"Choutarou, stop," gasps Shishido. "You're ... you're going too fast."

Ohtori detaches right away, feeling his face burn with shame. The last thing he wanted was to force Shishido into doing anything, especially when he hadn't even decided if he liked Ohtori that way or not. It's just ... Shishido makes him hot. So hot that reason and logic fly out the window. When they're half-naked and in bed together, there's no way Ohtori can hold himself back.

"I'd better leave," he mumbles.

"Choutarou, I --" Shishido sits up, and Ohtori can't help but notice the tent in his shorts. "I like this, honestly I do, and I like you, but --"

"What?" A grin of delight breaks across Ohtori's face. "You like me?"

"Of course." Shishido looks at him like he's insane. "I _really_ like you, Choutarou. I want us to do ... everything." His hand goes to adjust an imaginary cap. His bemused look is so cute Ohtori wants to kiss him immediately, but he resists. "But not _yet_. I'm sorry."

"Why?" Ohtori takes Shishido's hand and laces their fingers together. "All I wanted was for you to like me back. And, well, to sleep in your bed with you." He feels a blush rise at his admission. "Anything else is just a bonus."

Shishido's smile is big and beautiful. Ohtori wants to tell him so, but he's not sure Shishido is ready to hear things like that yet. Instead, he prods Shishido until he's lying with his back to Ohtori and lays a hand on his hip, just like he always imagined.

"Are we spooning?" asks Shishido gruffly.

"Yes." Ohtori nestles his chin against Shishido's head. His soft hair rustles as Shishido heaves a deep sigh.

"I thought we were." He leaves a long enough pause that Ohtori thinks he might have drifted off to sleep, then says in the quietest voice imaginable, "Are you okay with waiting?"

And because Ohtori's nearly asleep himself, he says something that is both true and far too soppy to say aloud normally. "I'd wait forever for you, Ryou."

"You're such a sap, Choutarou," sighs Shishido. And moves Ohtori's hand up to cover his heart, holding it there until they fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Ohtori stifles a yawn as he bends over his geometry homework. Life has been hectic lately. The teachers were obviously trained in sadism, for they delight in piling on more and more work with each new day. Clearly they're waiting to see who'll be the first to crack. Ohtori is determined that it won't be him, but it's hard to remember that at ten o'clock, after a tennis practice that seemed to last for years followed by two hours of frustration in the company of his violin. No less than three strings had snapped, Ohtori's fingers cramped from all the swings he'd done earlier and, worst of all, the music just wouldn't come. All he was doing was sawing the bow across the violin. This was not where he wanted to be when he had an under-sixteens violin solo competition the very next weekend.  
  
Hideki is splayed across his bed, reading a manga. He's only in the art club, and he finished his homework hours ago. He offered to let Ohtori copy. Ohtori managed not to let his indignation show at the time, but now he's almost considering taking Hideki up on it. Lights are out in half an hour and Ohtori is only half way through his maths problems.  
  
A knock comes at the door, and Hideki rolls to his feet to answer it. Ohtori hides a frown in his hand. The last thing he needs is one of Hideki's friends cluttering up the air with loud debates about the crassness of Henri Rousseau's work, or whatever is the current hot topic in the art club.  
  
He nearly falls off his chair as a familiar, if confused, voice asks, "Er, hey. Is Chou -- is Ohtori-kun here?"  
  
"Shishido," gasps Ohtori. "What are you doing here?"  
  
Shishido is leaning against the doorframe, twirling his cap in his hands. To anyone else the pose would have appeared arrogantly confident, but Ohtori knows Shishido well enough to realise that he's feeling hesitant. Ohtori would be too, if Hideki was looking at him with such a vicious expression.  
  
"I came to visit you, of course." Shishido clears his throat. "I was wondering -- well, you know Saturday is free activities, so I was thinking we could hit the street courts. We need to brush up on our doubles work before next year if we're going to take back the D1 spot."  
  
"I'd love to, but I can't." Ohtori's brain runs through his options. There are none. He bites his lip in regret. "I have a violin competition on Saturday. I really can't miss it."  
  
"Don't sweat it, Ohtori," says Shishido, sounding amused. "We can play next weekend."  
  
"Promise?"  
  
"Sure." Shishido flips his cap a little too quickly, and it ends up on Hideki's bed. Hideki brushes it to the floor as if it were a poisonous spider. Ohtori gapes at his impoliteness, but to call him on it would be even more rude.  
  
Shishido doesn't seem to notice anything amiss. He scoops up his cap and peeks over Ohtori's shoulder. "Geometry, eh? I remember that unit. It was a killer."  
  
"Tell me about it," groans Ohtori. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Hideki scowling fit to burst.  
  
"It's nearly lights-out," snaps Hideki. "You'll have to leave soon ... what was your name again?"  
  
"I know that, squirt." Shishido doesn't even look at Hideki, fixing his gaze on Ohtori instead. "If you want some help with that -- well, I have a torch. And all my old notes."   
He grins rakishly.  
  
"That'd be brilliant. Thank you, Shishido."  
  
"Don't mention it." Shishido pauses at the door. "Where is your competition on?"  
  
Ohtori reels off the address. Shishido nods, satisfied. "Do your best, Choutarou."  
  
"Of course." Ohtori beams, but Shishido is already gone.  
  
"You're finished, right?" says Hideki roughly. He slams off the light before Ohtori even has a chance to reply.   
  
+++  
  
Shishido pushes open the door to the hotel, feeling a dart of guilt at the sweaty mark he leaves on the gold handle. His discomfort only increases as he takes in the plush surroundings in the hotel lobby, from the glittering chandelier to the potted palms. He nearly turns around and leaves, but then he spots the signs leading the way to a violin recital.   
  
The doorman guarding the way to the ballroom raises sceptical eyebrows at Shishido's rather pungent streetware, but when he gets out his Hyoutei student card it's like flashing a gold Visa. "You're just in time," the doorman whispers, and ushers him through.  
  
Shishido hides behind a marble column as rousing applause breaks out. A girl, trembling like a leaf in a gale, walks away from the spot-lit dais at the other end of the ballroom and promptly dissolves into tears.   
  
"Next we have Ohtori Choutarou of Hyoutei Senior High School. He will be playing 'The Lark Ascending' by Ralph Vaughan Williams. Ohtori Choutarou, ladies and gentlemen."  
  
A door behind the dais opens and Ohtori comes through. The compère guides him the front of the dais. Shishido's eyes widen as he takes in his friend's appearance. Ohtori is dressed in tails, with a white shirt and a black bowtie. His head is thrown back, his hair swept off his face. Shishido is used to the glittering eyes and burning cheeks that always accompany Ohtori's performance, but this is something else again. Ohtori looks almost ... fierce.  
  
Ohtori bows, and Shishido has a chance to notice the panel of judges sitting at a table in front of the dais. Ohtori lifts his violin to his neck and gently lays the bow across it. His eyes flutter closed.  
  
And then, he plays.  
  
Shishido would never admit that Ohtori's playing gives him the goosebumps. For one thing, it would mortify Ohtori and he might never play for Shishido again. Shishido knows that Ohtori is just another boy, but he has a hard time remembering it when Ohtori is in the thrall of an instrument. Then, he's more like a fallen angel -- or a reformed demon. Shishido can't make up his mind.  
  
When the bow finally stops flying, the polite applause rises again. This time it sounds more enthusiastic, or maybe that's because Shishido is adding considerably to the racket from behind his pillar. Ohtori sags, his feet dragging as he goes to the ranks of chairs and sinks into one. Shishido guesses that he made some tiny mistake that no one who isn't a total perfectionist would hear, and it's getting him down. Shishido is impatient to go tell him how good -- how _great_ \-- he was, but the compère has ascended the dais again.   
  
He announces a ten-minute recess while the judges review the performances. Shishido sees his chance and wends his way through the slowly moving crowd, banging more than one person with his tennis bag.   
  
"Choutarou!" exclaims Shishido, grinning. Ohtori looks up, his face dazed. His eyes widen into swirling vats of chocolate.  
  
"Shishido! You came. Why did you come?" Without waiting for an answer, Ohtori rushes on. "Wasn't that terrible? I panicked in the middle -- I couldn't remember what note came next, and there was this pause, I could see the judges staring at me --"  
  
Shishido is used to Ohtori's adrenaline rushes. He's just the same after tennis matches, except at least then he knows if he's won or lost before he starts berating himself for his mistakes. Shishido puts a steadying hand on Ohtori's shoulder and Ohtori shuts up with a suddenness that surprises Shishido. He guesses that his gesture was unwarranted, and quickly returns his hand to the grip of his bag.  
  
"You sounded brilliant to me," he assures Ohtori. He wants to banish that fragile look from Ohtori's face, but nothing he can do will erase Ohtori's habitual uncertainty. He's tried before.   
  
"Who is this, Choutarou?" asks a new voice. It is cultured, finely-modulated, and as cold as ice shavings. Shishido feels his back stiffen in response.  
  
"Okaasan! You came too. This is awesome." Ohtori's smile is wide and unfettered. "This is my friend, Shishido-san. Remember, I played doubles with him in middle school?"  
  
"I remember," says Ohtori's mother. "Please do not use those slang words, Choutarou."   
  
Her gaze roves over Shishido, catching on his cap (he forgot to take it off, and he can suddenly feel the sweat beading in his hair), the scrub marks on his shirt and shorts, his scuffed sneakers, the tennis bag that's seen better days. "So this is the famous Shishido-san, is it? At home it's always Shishido-san this, Shishido-san that. I'd swear that you were the only other person attending Hyoutei." She gives a little laugh, which sounds like ice cubes tinkling in a glass.   
  
Shishido manages a smile. It hurts his mouth.  
  
"Okaasan," hisses Ohtori, turning red. "Don't say things like that."  
  
"Why not? It's true." Ohtori's mother clasps her hands over her elaborate obi. The last time Shishido's mother wore kimono was at her wedding twenty years ago. For some reason he thinks Ohtori-san can sense this, and despises it. "You are a good senpai to my son, Shishido-kun."  
  
"I try." Shishido's tongue feels thick in his mouth.  
  
"Indeed." Ohtori's mother turns to her son. She reaches up to fix his collar with a frown. "I'm glad to see that your playing has improved somewhat, Choutarou. It would have been an awful waste of money otherwise. I'm afraid I must be off, though. I expect you to bring me home a prize."  
  
"You won't stay?" says Ohtori weakly.  
  
His mother shakes her head. "Your father and I have an important lunch date with one of his clients. I only came to see you because we were in the area." Her small smile looks a little more genuine than before -- but not much. "I will tell him that he can be proud of his son, as always."  
  
"Thank you, Okaasan." They bow to each other, looking oddly formal to Shishido's eyes, before Ohtori's mother glides off. She moves like a geisha.  
  
Shishido can't think what to say. He hates to see Ohtori looking so pale and drawn, though. A few minutes ago Ohtori shone brighter than a Christmas tree. Somehow his mother managed to sap him of all his joy.   
  
_Nice going_ , thinks Shishido, sarcastic even in his brain.  
  
"Please sit down, Shishido." Ohtori pauses. "Unless you have to go somewhere, too."  
  
Shishido sits down so fast that he nearly overturns the chair.  
  
In the end Ohtori walks off with first prize. Shishido thinks that even Ohtori-san would be pleased with the huge silver cup, which is too big for Ohtori to carry easily. He doesn't complain, but he does let Shishido hold it for a while as they wander the streets looking for a ramen stand to celebrate Ohtori's win.  
  
"I can see my face in this," teases Shishido.   
  
"Careful it doesn't break, then," Ohtori returns cheekily. For a moment, Shishido is stunned by Ohtori's audacity -- then he laughs out loud. Ohtori's finally growing up.  
  
"You are pleased, though?" asks Shishido. Ohtori, despite his big smile for the cameras, has looked a little down ever since his mother left.  
  
"Of course. I'm very lucky -- my practising hasn't been going right for ages. It all came together for me today."  
  
"Yeah, right. You're gifted -- just admit it." Shishido grins to take the bite out of his words and shifts the cup under his arm, where it pushes hard and cold against his belly.  
  
Ohtori just ducks his head, the old blush returning full force. He hasn't grown out of _that_ yet, it seems. Shishido is oddly pleased by the fact.  
  
"I was wondering, Shishido," says Ohtori, stumbling a bit over the words, "if you'd like -- part of the prize was two tickets to Disneyland. I thought you could come with me." He raises his pleading gaze to Shishido's face, which he has to quickly school to hide his horror at the prospect. "If you don't want to, you don't have to. My sister will just make me take her." He shrugs. Shishido can read a million words in that gesture. Who wants to go to Disneyland with his sister?  
  
Who wants to go to Disneyland at _all_? Shishido corrects himself. Certainly not Shishido. But he can tell that Ohtori wants to -- a lot.  
  
He swallows his repugnance. "Sure, Choutarou. Just --" he winces "-- no rollercoasters, all right?"  
  
"Shishido is afraid of heights?" Ohtori sounds surprised. Shishido gives a tight little nod. For some reason, Ohtori looks thoughtful.  
  
"Shishido is afraid of heights," he repeats, more softly. He nods, as if storing away a vital piece of information.  
  
"C'mon, the ramen stall will close if you keep dawdling," says Shishido. "Even great violinists need to eat, you know."  
  
"Especially if they're being treated," replies Ohtori slyly. Shishido just laughs and digs out his wallet.  
  
+++  
  
  
"What time will you be back?"   
  
"I don't know," says Ohtori, as patiently as he can given that it's the fourth time Hideki's asked this question. "The last train is at eleven, so twelve at the latest, I suppose. We've cleared it with the dorm masters," he adds, before Hideki can object to that. Again.  
  
"Hmph." Hideki shoulders into his pillow, dark eyes fixed on Ohtori. Ohtori hides a sigh. Hideki has been having some gruesome mood swings lately -- snapping at Ohtori for no reason until Ohtori feels tears prick the back of his eyes, but sweet as pie the next minute. Ohtori is severely regretting his decision to room with Hideki, but at least there's only a few months to go before they're juniors. Ohtori guesses that Hideki is greatly anticipating that day. Ohtori knows he is.  
  
Ohtori starts getting changed. He planned on being ready ages ago, but Hideki hasn't stopped asking annoying questions since breakfast. At least it means that Ohtori doesn't have any more time to fret over what he's going to wear. He changed his mind every day since asking Shishido to come with him. Nearly everything he owns is too childish or too boring -- except his dress clothes, which are hardly appropriate for an amusement park.   
  
Hideki is staring at him as he strips off his uniform trousers and steps into his black jeans. Ohtori turns his back when he changes shirts, but he can feel Hideki's angry glare on his bare skin. Getting dressed in boarding school always presented a problem for Ohtori, as he gets embarrassed about people seeing him naked. Most people are polite enough to at least not watch -- even Hideki, up until now. Ohtori longs for a screen to shield him from Hideki's gaze.  
  
He is tying his laces when Shishido knocks on the door. The blush that started while he changed doubles in intensity as Ohtori takes in Shishido's outfit. Baggy calf-length shorts, a blue t-shirt adorned with silver writing, a jacket slung casually over his shoulders and -- wonder of wonders -- no cap. He's obviously tried to neaten his hair, but it sticks up in careless whorls and spikes.   
  
Ohtori holds his breath in what might have been jealousy. Shishido looks so _cool_.  
  
"Good, you're ready," says Shishido, breaking Ohtori's reverie. "We need to leave right now if we want to catch this train."  
  
"I'll just get my money." Ohtori ties his final knot and gropes the bed for wallet. "That's funny, I could have sworn I put my wallet right here --"  
  
"That green one, isn't it?" Shishido's eyes are narrowed, and he doesn't wait for an answer before continuing, "It looks like it's under your roomie's bed."  
  
Ohtori follows his gaze and laughs. "How on earth did it get under there?" He drops to his knees and pulls it out, apologising to Hideki for bumping his leg. Hideki just grunts again.   
  
"Tickets?"   
  
Ohtori peers into his wallet. "All present. Let's go!"  
  
"Let's," echoes Shishido, his gaze crackling and not directed at Ohtori.  
  
Ohtori doesn't register Shishido's mood. He's too excited, and he can't help sharing his   
feelings with Shishido via a big, goofy grin.  
  
Behind him, Hideki scowls darkly.  
  
+++  
  
The most horrible fact about Disneyland doesn't hit Shishido straight away. This is mainly because there are plenty of moderately horrible facts to keep him occupied in the meantime, like the hordes of children and the creeps dressed as mice and the screams from the scarier rides and the sheer, unadulterated dorkiness of the place.  
  
Disneyland is filled with _couples_.  
  
They loom out of every queue and crevice, taunting Shishido. He already knew that it was a mistake agreeing to come -- well, aside from the delight it inspired in his friend -- but now the mistake has taken on catastrophic proportions. It's fine for two boys to hang out in other places, but Disneyland might as well change its name to Lovers' Paradise.   
  
Ohtori hasn't appeared to notice this dynamic -- he's purchased a map and is studying it intently, occasionally seeking Shishido's opinion on one ride or another. Shishido makes non-committal replies as a parade of couples swans by their bench. Some of them are even holding hands.  
  
Then again, Shishido shouldn't expect Ohtori to be aware of such things. A year makes a big difference at their age.   
  
It's not that he's worried that strangers in the crowd will think that he and Ohtori are _dating_ , or something. Who'd do that, even if they were ... into boys? True, half the locker room talk is about what the seniors used to get up to with their roommates when they were freshmen. It's okay to fool around when you're young -- not that Shishido did -- but no one is supposed to take it seriously.  
  
He's glad that Ohtori isn't the type to experiment either. He has a feeling that Ohtori _would_ take it seriously.   
  
He trails around after Ohtori, trying to drum up some enthusiasm for his sake. Ohtori has enough eagerness for the both of them anyway. They make an almost totally comprehensive tour of the park, excepting the rides that involve heights. Even for Ohtori, Shishido doesn't think he could shake his phobia. He's pleased that Ohtori doesn't pester him about it. He's a good kid.  
  
It's while they're on the ghost train that Shishido realises he's not the only one with an irrational fear. From the moment they got on the ride, Ohtori has been stiff with it. When lighting-effect ghosts materialise from the darkness, Ohtori gasps. His shaking hand finds Shishido's on the safety rail and holds on tight.  
  
Shishido wants to laugh, but Ohtori didn't when the tables were turned. He also wants to peel off Ohtori's hand, too, but then again no one can see it there. So he lets it pass, and by the end of the ride Ohtori's grip has nearly cut off his circulation.  
  
Ohtori's hands are both loosely gripping the rail when the train emerges into the light once more. His face is waxy. Shishido decides he needs some sugar and drags him off to a candyfloss stand.  
  
He doesn't mention the hand-holding, and Ohtori seems to have forgotten that it even happened.  
  
Shishido doesn't.  
  
+++  
  
Ohtori has always thought about Shishido a lot, ever since they first became doubles partners. At first it was because he didn't know Shishido all that well, and wondered how he might react to different things. Later he had imaginary conversations with him that were, if not particularly satisfying, at least prevented him from talking Shishido's ear off every time they met. Ohtori loves to tell Shishido things, but even Shishido doesn't have an unlimited capacity for listening to babble. Ohtori prefers to keep their conversation revolving around the important things: tennis, music and food.  
  
After the day in Disneyland, the imaginary conversations evolve. Ohtori envisages wild scenarios, where Shishido is trapped in a burning building and Ohtori is the only one who can save him. Or where they take their tennis doubles to Wimbleton and win. Or where the door to the piano rooms is accidentally locked and they have to spend the whole night there, and Ohtori staves off Shishido's boredom by playing for him. Most of the fantasies end in Shishido's bedroom -- Shishido is so grateful for whatever Ohtori has done for him that he lifts up the duvet and invites Ohtori into bed with him.   
  
The idea of sleeping side by side with Shishido, double body warmth making everything comfortable, sends tingles through Ohtori's skin. He often starts to blush -- in the middle of the night, for crying out loud -- and that's when he switches to thinking about class or his newest piano piece.  
  
Ohtori isn't as innocent as everyone seems to think. He's jacked off before. When he was younger he'd just lie on his tummy and rub gently against the sheets. Granted, it _was_ a while before Ohtori figured out that his own hand felt better than the friction of cloth.  
  
He still doesn't like to do it unless he absolutely has to -- but he does know how. Even if he didn't, sharing a room with Hideki would be an education in itself. Ten minutes after lights-out Hideki is at it, every night, his breathing a harsh rasp in the darkness. Even Ohtori's iPod doesn't drown out the slick sounds completely.   
  
If Ohtori has to, he _always_ waits until Hideki falls asleep.  
  
+++  
  
"Excellent, Shishido!" Ohtori's voice brims with pleasure, and he turns to face Shishido with a blinding smile. "You've really got the hang of it now. Want to try it once more?"  
  
"Sure." Shishido shrugs, pretending to act like he doesn't care. He fails miserably due to the matching grin on his own face. He places his fingers lightly on the keys and begins to play.   
  
Ohtori claps at the end. When Shishido sends him an arch look, Ohtori flushes but holds his gaze. "What? A good performance deserves a round of applause."  
  
"Then I should be clapping for you," says Shishido, feeling himself start to blush for no reason at all. "It's all because of you."  
  
"Oh, no, Shishido," protests Ohtori. "Your hard work has paid off. I only helped."  
  
"No. All _you_." Shishido keeps his voice firm. While Ohtori is still stuck in a state of sweet confusion, Shishido stretches up a whole two inches and kisses him on the mouth.  
  
It's an act born of pure impulse, but it wouldn't have happened with anyone but Ohtori. And maybe not even Ohtori, if one side of his body weren't touching Shishido's or if they weren't such good friends or if it weren't the only way Shishido can think of to stop Ohtori's face from dropping in annoying self-deprecation.  
  
Ohtori's lips are soft, with a ridge of dry skin where they meet. His fingers twitch where Shishido has accidentally caught them under his thigh and he begins to tremble.  
  
"That's to say thanks," says Shishido when he pulls back. His heart is racing, which is silly -- it was only a little thank-you kiss, like the ones he gives his mother on birthdays. So it was on the lips. So Ohtori isn't a female relative. It's still the _same_.  
  
Ohtori touches his mouth. Wonder fills his face, and makes Shishido apprehensive.   
  
"Listen --" his voice is sharp "-- I'd better go, okay?"  
  
Ohtori nods and smiles. A hard, twisted knot forms in Shishido's stomach as he hurries away.


	3. Chapter 3

Ohtori lies curled around a pillow. He can't take his mind off Shishido's kiss, hot and rough against his mouth. He hasn't been able to concentrate since he made it back -- in a daze -- from the practice rooms. He tries to tell himself that it's not a big deal -- that Shishido was just thanking him, like he said. It doesn't work. Maybe it wasn't a big deal to _Shishido_ , but it was to Ohtori.   
  
To distract himself, Ohtori lets himself drift into a fantasy. Predictably enough, it's the one in the piano rooms. He's playing a haunting etude in the gathering dusk, as Shishido makes himself comfortable by spreading his jacket on the floor.  
  
"We can use them for pillows," dream-Shishido says, as always. Ohtori nods as he lets himself be carried away by the music, but always held to earth by the prickle of awareness tying him to Shishido. When the piece draws to a close he looks back at Shishido, waiting for the customary praise.  
  
Shishido has taken off his shirt as well.  
  
Ohtori tries to backtrack, but it's too late. Shishido is smiling at him in a way that Ohtori's never seen before. His mind is filling in the blanks, knitting together glimpses of Shishido's body from over the years. When Shishido's hand moves down to his own zipper, Ohtori squeezes his eyes shut and wills away the image.  
  
He settles on the comforting one of Shishido in bed, propping his sleepy head on his hand. But Ohtori's traitorous mind betrays him, changing the look on Shishido's face from one of drowsy benevolence to something else entirely. When he lifts up the covers for Ohtori, he's not wearing his pyjamas. He's not wearing anything at all.   
  
"Come on, Choutarou," says Shishido, his voice gruff. He pulls Ohtori down against him and kisses him over and over, leaving Ohtori gasping in real life.   
  
It's when he imagines Shishido slipping his tongue into Ohtori's mouth that Ohtori realises he's hard. In the middle of the evening, with all the lights on and his roommate due back any minute.  
  
Ohtori buries a groan and his teeth in the pillow. He thinks of his mother, tennis -- no, not tennis, Shishido with a racquet, Shishido covered in sweat, Shishido's shirt rising as he jumps for the ball -- _anything_ that doesn't involve bad -- (sexy) -- no, bad thoughts about Shishido Ryou.  
  
When he's finally calm, Hideki makes his entrance. He's quivering with rage, but Ohtori's head is so messed up that he barely notices. He does, however, notice when Hideki stands right in front of him and prods a shaking finger into his shoulder.  
  
"What?" Ohtori isn't in the mood for one of Hideki's rants about who was supposed to   
  
empty the wastepaper bin.  
  
"I saw you!" hisses Hideki. " _Kissing_ that Shishido-san! You're disgusting, Ohtori-kun, that's what you are."  
  
"Huh?" Ohtori's head is whirling now, far worse than when he was thinking about Shishido with no clothes on. "What do you mean -- were you --"  
  
For a moment Hideki looks wrong-footed. Of course, he's not supposed to be in the music rooms -- he's not in the music club. Then again, neither is Shishido. It's not a hard and fast rule, but Hideki had no reason to be there.   
  
"Where you following me?" accuses Ohtori.  
  
"I was looking for you," corrects Hideki. "You -- your mother called the dorms, and the dorm master sent me to fetch you."  
  
"Oh." Ohtori digests this. He's surprised his mother didn't ring his mobile, like she usually does. Maybe the battery has run down.  
  
"No wonder you're always hanging off him." Hideki sneers. "Is he your boyfriend or what?"  
  
"No! He -- it was just -- he was thanking me for teaching him piano, that's all." Even as he says it, Ohtori's heart sinks. If that's really all it was, then ... then, Ohtori is disappointed.  
  
Because he does want it to be more.  
  
"Huh." Hideki begins to tear off his clothes. Ohtori politely averts his eyes. He supposes he should get changed for bed, but he's still not sure he's calmed down quite enough to move.  
  
He decides he'll visit Shishido later. Perhaps he'll still be feeling grateful. Ohtori feels his stomach squirm when he thinks that, but he can't help it.   
  
But Shishido doesn't answer his knock. Eventually, Ohtori tries the doorknob. It's always possible that Shishido fell asleep.  
  
The door is locked.  
  
Ohtori feels a sharp pain deep in his chest. Why would Shishido lock the door? People only do that when they're leaving the room, not when they're already in it.  
  
Worse is to come when he finally returns to his floor. All the lights are on, inspiring growls from those who wish to sleep. The dorm master is standing in Ohtori's room. One look at Ohtori, fully dressed and entering through the fire door, is enough.  
  
"Grounds privileges denied for a month," sighs the dorm master. His flinty gaze adds: _You've let the side down, Ohtori._  
  
Hideki is facing the wall. Ohtori can tell he isn't asleep. He can also tell, from the tight bands of muscle in Hideki's neck, that he's feeling guilty because he dobbed Ohtori in.  
  
When he checks his phone, he's not even surprised to see that it's fully charged.  
  
+++  
  
Shishido hears Ohtori's knock and feels guilty for not answering it. But the fact is, he's got his hands down his pants at the time and there's no way in the world he's opening the door to Ohtori with his a tent in his shorts. Especially just a few hours after kissing him. Ohtori might think that Shishido is trying to seduce him or something awful like that. He'll come up with a good excuse tomorrow.  
  
The fact is, Ohtori is also the reason why Shishido is jacking off in the first place. His soft little mouth, those long lean legs ... Shishido has been keeping his awareness of Ohtori under wraps for a while now, but kissing up opened the door to let all those feelings out in the open. It's made all the worse by Ohtori's naiveté. Shishido can tell that Ohtori bought the thank-you excuse -- hell, he did too, right up until he stepped into the shower and imagined Ohtori in there with him. Pressing him up against the wet tiles, sticking his tongue down his throat, grinding against him, robbing him of that innocence touch by touch.   
  
He needs time to adjust, and he's not sure how to explain that to Ohtori. He's developed a bit of a crush, that's all. It'll pass in time and then they can go back to normal.   
  
He's surprised to find Ohtori's little roommate waiting outside his room when he goes out the next morning. He can't help flushing -- he'd spent a lovely ten minutes touching himself and guiltily imagining it was Ohtori's hand he was guiding before he got up.   
  
There's a nasty look on the kid's face, too. Shishido hopes Ohtori hasn't been stuck in with a bully, but he's sure Ohtori would have told him if that were the case.  
  
"You're a pervert," says the boy.   
  
Shishido has heard politer greetings. He decides to return it in kind. "Get out of my way, asshole."   
  
"You're a pervert and by the end of the day everyone else will know it too." The boy sticks his face right up into Shishido's. Shishido has to admire his bravery, misplaced as it is. "You'd better stay away from Ohtori from now on."  
  
"Whatever, kid." Shishido brushes him off, rather amused.  
  
An hour later he is far from amused. He is burning with rage -- and guilt.  
  
Gossip about him and Ohtori is swamping the school like a tidal wave. Their little kiss has evolved in the telling until it's a steamy make-out session, complete with unbuttoned shirts, heavy petting and all the details the yaoi-centric core care to add. Shishido has been the recipient of catcalls, jeers and lewd remarks since first period.   
  
When he sees Ohtori's roommate at lunch, Shishido wastes no time in pasting him up against a tree. "It was you, wasn't it?" he growls.  
  
"Get your hands off me, or I'll cry rape." The boy is incredibly calm, and incredibly evil. Shishido lets him go.  
  
"I warned you to stay away from Ohtori." The boy's face is full of twisted triumph. "You didn't listen. Are you listening now?"  
  
Shishido glares. The boy meets his gaze, stone for fire. "Yeah, I'm listening."  
  
"Then here's what you'd better do," says the boy. "For your sake. But mostly for Ohtori's."  
  
+++  
  
Ohtori is still worried about Shishido when he plays a ranking match the next day. To his surprise, he wins. He barely registers the fact that he's been made a Regular until an amused Atobe points him to the Regulars' clubhouse when he leaves to change.  
  
Most of the other Regulars are running laps for some time infraction or other. Shishido enters last. Ohtori tries not to feel hurt that Shishido neither congratulates him nor even comes near him, instead choosing a changing spot at the other side of the room. Ohtori immediately begins to fret that he's done something to offend his quick-tempered friend. All he comes up with is the kiss, which can't be it -- Shishido instigated it, after all.  
  
"Ohtori-kun!" Mukahi slings an arm around Ohtori's neck, dragging himself to his tiptoes to do so. "It's great to have you back. Everyone else is immune to my teasing."  
  
"So am I," protests Ohtori, earning himself a disbelieving snort from Mukahi. Mukahi swings his hair out of his eyes and smirks at Shishido.  
  
"So, I heard you and Shishido were making out in the piano rooms yesterday," he says, loudly enough to be heard in Timbuktu. "Congratulations on _finally_ getting it together. I've had a bet on with Yuushi since middle school --"  
  
  
"What did you say?" Shishido's voice is low and dangerous, but it carries just as well as Mukahi's in the sudden silence.   
  
Mukahi drops his arm and retreats a step, even though Shishido hasn't moved. "What's wrong, Shishido-kun? Was it in a different room?"  
  
"Don't be fucking stupid," snarls Shishido. "As if I would do something so -- so filthy."   
  
He slams his locker shut and stalks out, but not without first throwing a scathing look at Ohtori.  
  
Ohtori is suddenly standing in the middle of his own personal Ice Age.  
  
"Geez, someone's touchy today," remarks Mukahi -- but not, Ohtori notes, until the door behind Shishido is well and truly shut. "Did he get his period, Ohtori-kun?"  
  
Ohtori tries to speak, but it feels like his lips have been frozen shut. To his horror, tears build behind his eyes. He blinks rapidly, trying to stop them, but more only well in their place.  
  
"Don't worry," says a soft voice in his ear. Jiroh's arms come around Ohtori's neck and he rests his forehead against Ohtori's back. When did Jiroh get so tall? "Shishido's an ass, but he'll get over it."  
  
Ohtori manages to nod, his hands over his eyes to soak up the leaks. Vaguely, he hears Atobe clearing everyone out of the changing rooms. "No, Kabaji, leave Jiroh today."   
  
After a long while, Ohtori realises that Jiroh has fallen asleep against his back, and that all his tears are gone.  
  
"He kissed _me_ ," says Ohtori stupidly. Jiroh comes awake with a yawn.  
  
"I know," replies Jiroh quietly. "That's why he's scared."  
  
+++  
  
The hurt confusion on Ohtori's face cut Shishido to the quick. If it weren't for the fact that Hideki had insisted that saying it was the only way to dispel the rumours, Shishido would have bailed instantly. But Hideki is a scary little shit despite his puny appearance, and Shishido would never do anything to compromise his friend's reputation. Even if it means temporarily damaging their friendship.  
  
Because Shishido isn't about to let this continue indefinitely. He'll corner Ohtori somewhere private -- in the piano rooms, maybe -- and explain everything to him. He'll probably keep Hideki's name out of it, though. Ohtori still has to room with the guy. Shishido isn't about to poison the air between them while they share living space.  
  
Yet when he gets back to his room a nasty surprise is awaiting him. Shishido doesn't recognise the dorm master in question, but he knows the uniform well. At first Shishido thinks he's come to confiscate a hot plate or check that Shishido vacuumed the floor. Shishido is polite and affable as he can be, right up until the dorm master starts talking about Ohtori. After that Shishido gets a bit dizzy, what with words like 'bullying', 'coercion,' 'same sex relationships' and 'frowned upon' being thrown around. He can't even get enough of a grip to dispute what the dorm master is implying -- to tell him that it was nothing, barely half a step up from a hug, no different from kissing his brother (not that he _would_ \-- disgusting).  
  
"I think you'll agree it's best if you kept your distance from Ohtori-kun for the foreseeable future," finishes the dorm master. "I understand that he tutors you in piano and that you were doubles partners in the tennis club. Obviously he has an attachment to you, which is probably why he hasn't reported you for inappropriate behaviour. It is up to you to do the right thing."  
  
"The right thing," echoes Shishido numbly.  
  
+++  
  
Ohtori used to love hard candies when he was younger. His mother warned him that he'd break his teeth, and Ohtori nodded solemnly and ate them anyway.  
  
One day he broke a tooth, just like she said. He had to get it removed. It was painful when the jagged edges jolted at every movement or brushed his tongue. It was painful getting a needle in his gum. It was painful waiting as the tender skin scarred over.  
  
But one day it didn't hurt any more.   
  
Ohtori isn't sure where he's at right now -- whether Shishido is the broken tooth, the needle or the empty socket. All he knows is that he's in pain and it's not going away.  
  
Every new snub hits him with a new shock of hurt. Atobe tells him that he'll be playing doubles with Mukahi for a while, because Shishido and the tensai want to try their hand at singles. Ohtori presses, and reluctantly Atobe concedes that Shishido asked for it to be that way.   
  
That stings.  
  
Ohtori waits in the piano room for three consecutive nights, wondering each time if Shishido forgot the last. The faint throbbing escalates into a full-blown burn when he finally admits to himself that Shishido isn't coming any more.  
  
That _really_ stings.  
  
But these things he could handle, these things he could adapt to -- if Shishido wasn't so determined to exorcise every last remnant of their friendship. There are valid reasons for Shishido wanting to return to his singles spot (even though he said once that they were going to take back doubles one, didn't he?) or to discontinue his piano lessons (despite his fulsome gratitude to Ohtori for providing them). It's even possible that Shishido, careless as he is, simply forgot to mention those salient facts to Ohtori.  
  
What isn't right is that Shishido is avoiding him. Not even being a bit distant or thoughtless, as he often is, but literally ignoring Ohtori -- brushing off his attempts at conversation, walking in the other direction when he sees Ohtori approaching, looking away when their eyes meet across crowded school corridors.  
  
That hurts so much that Ohtori can barely breathe for thinking of it.  
  
He sleepwalks through spring, passing exams and playing tennis and practising music all on autopilot. He stops going home at weekends, preferring to lie on his bed in Hyoutei and let his mind drift to the past.   
  
Hideki is abrasively cheerful these days. He seems to have entirely got over his dose of the grumps, and keeps trying to get Ohtori to come out with his raucous art friends. Ohtori refuses, at first politely, and later with a mute shake of the head and blazing eyes. He's lost a friend, but he's in no hurry to fill Shishido's place with stupid painters -- or even, as Hideki suggests, a girlfriend.  
  
No, Ohtori doesn't want a girlfriend. He wants Shishido. This realisation comes to him on one of the sultry Saturday afternoons, when the air is so still it feels like time has stopped. Ohtori wakes up from a fitful doze and a fragmented dream wherein he and Shishido are playing tennis in the desert, dripping with heat. He opens his mouth in a silent moan of remembrance -- waking is daily torture -- and his heart contracts as he wishes for Shishido to appear at the door.  
  
Preferably naked.  
  
If they'd still been friends, Ohtori would have quashed his longings firmly and totally. If they'd still been friends, Ohtori probably would have been able to convince himself that what he was feeling was friendly regard. But they're not friends, Shishido has seen to that, so Ohtori is free to feel whatever angry, aching need he chooses.  
  
It is his anger that fuels him to break through the modesty of his own brain, which is always trying to hide away the naughtier images. In defiance of Shishido and of himself, he lets his imagination roam free. Soon his nights are panting, fevered messes and his mornings sticky. He ignores Hideki's traumatised stares and begins to choke out Shishido's name as he comes. His finger learn quickly to tug hard and squeeze harder.   
  
Without quite deciding to, Ohtori explores his own body further. He kicks away his pyjama pants and rubs his thighs, trails fingers along his belly, brushes circles of fire in ever descending circles.   
  
At first he just imagines that Shishido's hand is his own, touching and fondling him with daring agility. Soon, it's not enough. He has to imagine doing it _to_ Shishido instead -- and the image is enough to make him hard at any time of the day. Shishido below him, straining and gasping his name as Ohtori pins his wrists down and brushes his palm over the head of his cock? Oh, yes, that is enough for a long time.  
  
Other boys profess great knowledge of the female parts, but Ohtori knows with grim certainty that their wisdom is not first-hand. Hideki has a few magazines under his bed. He hasn't troubled to hide them from Ohtori, although he never actually looks at them when Ohtori is around. The big-breasted women leave Ohtori unmoved, but there are lists of the sister publications on the back pages. It's simple to charge a few orders to his emergency credit card. If challenged, Ohtori plans to say it was stolen.   
  
The first time Ohtori pages through gay pornography, he feels sick to his stomach. He doesn't jack off for days, remembering too well the utter realism of the graphic pictures. He's convinced that he's got it wrong -- that he doesn't feel that way towards Shishido at all.   
  
But the writhing bodies are imprinted on his brain and they creep out when he nears sleep, encouraging him to move his hand down. By the time he wakes up Ohtori decides to have another look. While shocked and not a little disgusted, there's undeniably now a part of Ohtori that is also deeply fascinated.   
  
Maybe it didn't have to turn out like this, but it did. If getting hot from looking at two guys sucking each other off is the only thing Ohtori can salvage from the situation, then so be it.   
  
In the meantime, life goes on. Ohtori has a geography paper due, but by the time he remembers it's Sunday. The library is closed. He manages to come up with a decent outline, but there's a lot of points that require verification. His gaze lights on Hideki's little-used laptop. Hideki is out for the day, staging a protest at a modern art gallery or whatever it is he does for fun. Ohtori is pretty sure Hideki won't mind if Ohtori uses his internet connection, but he doesn't really care if he does. Ohtori misses the gloomy Hideki who barely spoke two words to him -- the happy, bouncy Hideki is a crime against nature.  
  
Hideki is logged in and Ohtori absently clicks on the desktop icon while he reaches over for his notes. He realises he's accidentally gone into Hideki's email when he sees the list of subject lines, and is about to x out when he spots his own name among them.  
  
An icy finger runs down Ohtori's spine as the cursor blinks over the email from Hideki to his brother, the dorm master. He wants to smash the laptop into tiny little pieces, but he   
reigns himself in.  
  
Smashing Hideki's head in would be far the better option.  
  
+++  
  
Shishido flexes his fingers. He probably shouldn't have practised so long last night, but working on piano pieces without Ohtori is like trying to read Braille with a fork. He can't figure out if he's getting better or worse -- worse, probably -- or what he should do next, but he keeps going to the practice rooms because he can't bear not to.  
  
"Still running in the singles practices?" asks Atobe, as he does every week. Shishido nods. Atobe sighs. Shishido thinks that this isn't _entirely_ because Shishido has managed to single-handedly destroy the most successful doubles team Hyoutei has had in a long time. No one can use intuition the way Atobe does and not remain entirely attuned to the dynamics between his players.   
  
There has been a barely discernable split in the team since he and Ohtori 'broke up' -- as Mukahi insists on putting it. Jiroh is firmly on Ohtori's side, Atobe on Shishido's, and from there the other Regulars range in loyalty. Shishido knows that this annoys Atobe more than the rift itself, but Atobe is the only one Shishido told about the dorm master's warning. Atobe knows there is nothing Shishido can do. _Shishido_ knows there is nothing Shishido can do. It doesn't mean that Shishido doesn't feel like banging his head against a locker most every day out of pure, miserable frustration.  
  
So it is that when Ohtori stalks into the clubroom with one eye swelling shut, blood oozing from a cut on his neck and clumps of his own hair stuck to his jacket Shishido can't help but exclaim, " _Choutarou_!" His reflex is instantaneous, and he forgets that he's no longer entitled to call Ohtori that.  
  
His remark is lost under the barrage of inquiries from the rest of the team, however. Oshitari sends Mukahi bounding away for the first aid kit, despite the fact that Ohtori brushes off his concern with something like impatience. He also ignores Atobe's imperious inquiry as to what the hell Ohtori thinks he was doing, his gaze scanning the room as if he's looking for someone.  
  
When his eyes stop on Shishido -- sitting stock still with his socks clutched to his chest -- Shishido quails at the fire in those normally placid brown pools. Even Kabaji steps back as Ohtori walks towards Shishido. Shishido only thinks to speak when Ohtori's hand is curling into his shirtfront, and by then it's too late. Ohtori yanks him to his feet. Shishido closes his eyes and waits for the blow.   
  
It doesn't come, but the lips that graze his with fierce tenderness are almost more jarring. Shishido opens his eyes again in shock, trying to ignore the way his body wants to wrap itself around Ohtori and not let go for about a century.   
  
Ohtori releases him so suddenly that Shishido stumbles back against a locker. He's not looking at Shishido when he announces, cool as anything, "You all saw that, right? You saw that _I_ kissed him? Because _I_ wanted to?" He glares at the other Regulars, who suddenly start bobbing their heads like a flock of pigeons. "Good." Ohtori spins to face Atobe. Shishido would swear that Atobe flinched. Ohtori bows. "Please excuse me, fukubuchou. I must go to the nurse. I will return as soon as she is done."  
  
"For goodness' sake, Ohtori," snaps Atobe. "Take this practice off. Don't do it again, you hear?"  
  
"No," says Ohtori meekly. "I will not need to, Atobe-san."  
  
Atobe just flutters his fingers at the door and mutters something that sounds like: "Kabaji,   
a large whiskey."   
  
"Does this mean you're his girlfriend now?" Mukahi bounces over to Shishido, nearly crowning him with the first aid kit.  
  
"I don't think so," returns Shishido, and wonders at the bleakness in his own voice.  
  
+++  
  
Right in the middle of the Moonlight Sonata, Ohtori's skin tightens. He knows right away he's being watched, but he doesn't allow himself to falter. In fact he shows off a little -- letting his body sway with the crescendos, leaning in deeply for the pianissimos.   
  
He's not quite prepared for the applause. It's been so long since he's heard it.  
  
"Hey," says Shishido, sliding on to the stool beside him.  
  
"Hey," replies Ohtori. He's feeling shy now that Shishido is _right here_ , and his adrenaline rush long since faded. In the end Ohtori didn't go to the nurse, and neither did Hideki. Hideki got some bandaids and rubbing alcohol from his brother, and they cleaned themselves up as best they could on their own.  
  
"So," starts Shishido, when the silence has wound out long enough to be uncomfortable, "I guess I owe you an explanation."  
  
"I know what Hideki said to you. He told me. You -- you can't be blamed for doing what you did." Ohtori's voice dips because in fact, he does blame Shishido a little.   
  
Shishido appears to agree, for he is shaking his head. "No, I ... I shouldn't have just dropped you without telling you why first. I reckon you would've understood."  
  
Ohtori makes a 'mmm' noise. For one thing, Ohtori would immediately have considered Hideki's involvement in the whole affair suspicious; after that, who knows? He wouldn't have let Shishido go without a fight, but that could have turned nasty. At least Ohtori knows what he wants now.  
  
Shishido's fingers play a nervous little arpeggio. "Are we friends now?"  
  
"No." At Shishido's bewildered look, Ohtori adds, "Don't you get it? I don't want to be your friend, Shishido."  
  
"Oh." Shishido snatches his hand back as if the piano had just caught fire, and uses it to scrub through his hair. "You're still angry, then."  
  
"It's not that." Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Ohtori rests his fingertips on Shishido's jaw and turns his face. "I want to be _more_ than your friend." He presses his mouth to Shishido's -- a mere peck, but enough to send Ohtori's pulse racing faster than his Scud serve. "I want to do things to you," he whispers, his lips wet on Shishido's jaw. "I want to -- fuck you." He can't help that his voice catches a little on the word.  
  
"Choutarou!" gasps Shishido, but he's not pushing Ohtori away. "Since when do you --"  
  
"I had a lot of time to think." Ohtori shrugs. His face is still warm from confessing to   
Shishido, but it's nothing to Shishido's fiery blush. He didn't even know that Shishido _could_ blush.  
  
"A-ah." Shishido stares down at where his fingers have become tangled with Ohtori's. "I'm not sure -- I mean, I missed you -- but --"  
  
Ohtori disengages his hand and puts it on the piano. He plays a C scale from the one end of the keyboard to another, counting the notes so he doesn't have to think about Shishido's rejection.  
  
"Hey." Shishido nudges Ohtori's thigh with his knee. "Look at me, Choutarou. I can't think who else I'd want to -- you know -- with." At that, Ohtori does meet his gaze with a smile. Even Shishido's nose is red. "But, like, I don't know if I'm ready to -- well. Do things."  
  
"Fifty," says Ohtori suddenly. "Fifty days is seven weeks, right?"  
  
"Yeah." Shishido worries at a loose thread in his jacket. "It's been too long, Choutarou."  
  
Ohtori can't hold in a smile. He hasn't been the only one counting, then. "Fifty days -- fifty white keys. That's how long I've wanted you. I'll give you fifty days, Shishido. If you don't like me back by then, you never will."  
  
Shishido's mouth crooks up. "You've changed."  
  
"I didn't have a choice."   
  
"No." Shishido's voice hardens. "But I did. You gave me fifty days to like you, Choutarou -- but I'll give you fifty days to make it up to you."  
  
"I said it was okay," protests Ohtori.  
  
"That's because you're basically a really good guy," says Shishido, and Ohtori isn't   
imagining the way his voice softens. "I _need_ to do this, you understand."  
  
"Well." Ohtori finds Shishido's hand and lifts it to the ivories. "You can start by showing me how much worse you've got since our last lesson."  
  
+++  
  
Shishido lies on Ohtori's bed with Ohtori beside him, running through geometry problems. As Shishido explains the theorems Ohtori nods, sucking in his lower lip in concentration and nodding occasionally. It's when Shishido absently taps his pen against the pillow and Ohtori's eyes follow the movement that Shishido realises it's not maths that Ohtori is paying attention to.  
  
It's been a week. Shishido has done a little something for Ohtori every day: fetching him new manuscripts for music class, carrying his books in the hall, re-binding his racquet with grip tape. Today it's tutoring in what is arguably Ohtori's worst subject: maths. He sometimes gets Cs in it. Shishido heard once that music and maths were closely connected and to be good at one you had to be good at the other. Ohtori's clearly an exception.  
  
Ohtori sees Shishido's raised eyebrows and ducks his head. "Sorry, Shishido." Shishido begins to smile but stops suddenly when Ohtori adds, softly, "You have such beautiful fingers."  
  
Shishido's stomach tightens. Ohtori is so earnest, so transparent. "Ohtori," says Shishido, "what are you going to do if I ... say no?"  
  
Ohtori's eyes widen like Shishido told him his father just died. He hides it with a little laugh and leans in. "I guess I'd do this." He nuzzles his lips into the corner of Shishido's mouth, his cheek brushing the beginnings of Shishido's stubble. "And then I'd run away, and hope you were still my friend."  
  
"Oh, really?" Shishido turns his head ever so slightly. "So you wouldn't do ... this?" His mouth finds Ohtori's -- it hasn't gone far -- and latches on.   
  
Shishido hasn't been kissed all that often. A few times at parties and family gatherings, but that's it. He's still not sure where everything goes, but he makes little rubbing movements against Ohtori's mouth and hopes he's doing okay. Ohtori's gasps suggest that he is. When Ohtori's mouth falls open under his, it freaks Shishido out for a second. Then he feels wetness gliding over the tingling nerve endings rounding his lip. He realises Ohtori's tongue is in his mouth. They're making out on Ohtori's bed and suddenly Shishido's skin is hot all over.  
  
Ohtori breaks off and leans on his hand, panting. His lips are a little swollen and it's all Shishido can do to not to lean across and start over. But they have homework, and a disapproving roommate due back any minute. Besides, this might mean Shishido is saying yes ... and then what?  
  
He retrieves his pen for something to do. It's gone under the pillow. When Shishido slides his hand after it, he encounters cool glossy paper. A magazine. A _dirty_ magazine, on closer inspection.  
  
He expects Ohtori to blush at the discovery, especially given that there are naked men romping on the cover and several well thumbed, suspiciously wrinkled pages. But Ohtori just grins into his ear and whispers, "Do you want to borrow it?"   
  
Shishido wonders later if Ohtori put it there on purpose.


	4. Chapter 4

"It's me," says Ohtori, in answer to Shishido's sleepy mumble. He slips through the door and pushes it back, but not far enough to close.   
  
"Wha'? Choutarou?" Shishido sits up in bed and knuckles his eyes. His hair is all on end. Ohtori thinks he looks like a startled porcupine. Then Ohtori's eyes move down to where Shishido's sleeping shirt is crumpled up against his chest -- revealing a broad swathe of bare skin -- and he stops thinking about small mammals altogether.   
  
"I thought I could stay over." Ohtori speaks the words quickly, before he loses his nerve. He knows he's playing with fire, but he also knows that Hideki owes him one. Although Ohtori hasn't spoken one word to his roommate since he punched his lights out, Hideki was watching as Ohtori rolled his uniform into a blanket after bed check. Hideki _will_ cover for him in the morning.   
  
None of it matters if Shishido doesn't want him there, of course. Ohtori tries to explain his plan, to show Shishido the blanket, and ask for a pillow he can put on the floor. Unfortunately, the sight of Shishido -- half-awake and somewhat grumpy -- has struck Ohtori dumb, and not because he's afraid of invoking Shishido's legendary post-slumber ire. No, Shishido's loose t-shirt, the glint of skin as he tosses back the covers, the curiously vulnerable curve of his neck -- these are the things stopping Ohtori's tongue. These are the things making him look like a stammering fool in front of the person he most wants to impress in all the world.  
  
"Slumber party?" mumbles Shishido, his words cut in half by a yawn. "G'on, then."  
And he holds out the covers to invite Ohtori in.  
  
For a moment Ohtori can't move. He longs to pinch himself, to see if he's simply fallen into his favourite fantasy and is really tucked up in his own bed, three stories above. Shishido rolls his eyes, combining the move with a yawn. The result is somewhat psychotic.  
  
"Get _in_ , Choutarou," he says. His voice still wavers from tiredness, but Ohtori isn't about to wait for Shishido to wake up properly. Not when everything he's ever wanted is being offered to him right here.  
  
His limbs feel clumsy as he arranges them: bending first one knee, then the other, and levering himself down. Shishido throws the covers over the two of them -- leaving Ohtori with a mouthful of cotton -- and flops his arm across Ohtori's waist before Ohtori has a chance to do it first to him.   
  
"I was planning to sleep on the floor," whispers Ohtori.   
  
"You were not." Shishido burrows his head into the pillow and lets his eyes flutter closed.   
  
Ohtori flushes, but happily -- Shishido read Ohtori's mind. What's more, he liked what he saw.   
  
There's very little spare room in the single bed, but Shishido doesn't seem to mind as Ohtori tentatively snuggles closer. Before the end of ten minutes Shishido's knees are tucked against his chest, fenced by Ohtori's. The arm on Ohtori's waist goes lax with sleep. Shishido's head lolls against Ohtori's jaw, gossamer strands getting in Ohtori's mouth. With the excuse of brushing them away, Ohtori threads his fingers through Shishido's hair. It feels gorgeous, light and silky -- so very at odds with Shishido's tough outer demeanour.  
  
Listening to Shishido's sleep noises -- soft, wet little sighs and the occasional stuttering snore -- is to Ohtori a pearl beyond price. Yes, his back is cramping from being curled around Shishido. True, his foot is going to sleep long before him. No, Shishido's sheets don't exactly smell of pine forests or bluebells. Yet for all that, Ohtori feels warm and content. There's no place he'd rather be.  
  
+++  
  
Shishido rather expected there to be some spooning during the night. That's what always happens in movies, isn't it? The lovers end up stuck together like a bunch of puppies in a basket, and they wake the next morning with the sun spilling in the windows and big smiles on their faces.  
  
The reality is somewhat different. Ohtori ended up rolling away from him in the night, not towards him. Half his body is hanging off the bed and his face is smushed into the pillow. The closed curtains make the small room hot, dark and redolent of feet. Shishido isn't in the slightest bit inclined to smile in the mornings -- even on a morning when Ohtori is sprawled across his bed like an oversized plushie, the back of his hair ruffled up and knotty.  
  
Okay, so maybe Shishido smiles a little bit. But it's still nothing like a picture-perfect morning. Shishido climbs over Ohtori to get out of bed, when prodding, shaking and finally shouting his name produce no results. His suitemate has used up all the hot water and left a rim of shaving foam and stubble in the sink. The only thing that saves the morning is returning to find that his bed is already made, with perfect hospital corners and the sheet turned over the top of the duvet.   
  
Ohtori is crouched on the floor when Shishido opens the door of the interconnecting bathroom. Even after being bundled up all night, Ohtori still manages to make his uniform look crisp and freshly ironed. Maybe it's just the way his tall frame stretches the fabric, pulling it tightly over firm, shifting muscles.   
  
Shishido shakes his head, trying to clear it of his massively divergent thoughts. At first he thinks that Ohtori is tidying away Shishido's clothes -- there's already a folded pile on the end of his bed that he knows wasn't there before. (Shishido doesn't fold things; he's genetically incapable of so doing.) His assumption is put to the lie when Ohtori surreptitiously brings a fold of grey cloth to his nose and sniffs it.  
  
Going tomato-red, Shishido darts back into the bathroom. As a cover he loudly clatters his suitemate's aftershave bottles -- of which there are about twenty, stacked in height order. Although one part of him cannot believe he really saw what he just did -- reserved, proper Ohtori of all people! -- another is oddly aroused. The latter part is certainly the more vociferous, and goes to such lengths to get Shishido's attention that he eventually has to take another -- icy cold -- shower.  
  
When Shishido emerges, his wet hair dribbling on to his neck, Ohtori is fixing his tie in the mirror. He has a tongue-out, furrowed-brow look of concentration on his face that would have been terribly cute if Shishido ever thought words like cute, which he doesn't.   
  
There is no sign of the boxers that Shishido wore last night and shucked off prior to having his first shower of the morning. Ohtori's face is as bright as a button and categorically guilt-free. If he were a less suspicious person, and if he didn't know Ohtori as well as he did, Shishido would have been entirely taken in. He doesn't call Ohtori on it, though.   
  
They part ways at the end of the corridor. It's nearly the end of term and morning tennis practices are a thing of the past. They both have different dining halls -- Hyoutei is too large not to stagger meals by year. Shishido suggests meeting up after class. Ohtori bobs his head and says he'd like that.  
  
There are forty-five minutes between the end of classes and the beginning of study hall and club activities. This is the time most people use for shopping trips and dates outside of school grounds. Even people who have no interest in either usually spend the time outside, relaxing, before consigning themselves to an evening in the library or clubhouse. Thus Shishido doesn't really expect to find Ohtori in his room right after school, but as he had to pick up his spare racquet anyway he thinks he'll check before searching for Ohtori elsewhere.  
  
The door to Ohtori's room is slightly ajar. The cleaners leave them that way after vacuuming every day. Shishido puts his hand to the door, about to push it further open and stick his head around, when he catches sight of Ohtori.  
  
His friend is kneeling on his bed with his teeth clenched, every muscle in his neck rippling like the strings of piano. For a stunned moment Shishido fears that Ohtori is in grave pain, before Ohtori throws back his head and smiles.  
  
Shishido's eyes widen with heated realisation. He feels like a bee stuck in a honeypot, for it seems to take an age to get from Ohtori's panting mouth to where his hands are busy between his legs.   
  
Ohtori is still mostly clothed. His school shirt is unbuttoned and slipping off his shoulders. He has two nipples -- one on either side. They are flat and the colour of milky coffee. There are deep lines carved into his chest and belly. His hips jut out in creamy peaks, casting long shadows. His trousers are pushed down around his knees, and Shishido can see the swell of his thigh muscles holding his legs apart. Slightly higher up -- Shishido's eyes widen -- he can see a crumple of grey material. Yet Ohtori Choutarou owns nothing but the whitest of white briefs. Shishido may or may not have noticed this fact in the changing rooms.  
  
The realisation that Ohtori has been walking around all day wearing Shishido's dirty boxers makes Shishido's trousers tighter than a high tension racquet string.  
  
Jacking off is a fact of life. Shishido knows this. He's been visited by the urge to indulge at far less appropriate times: in the middle of tennis matches (quite often with Ohtori), in class, even once -- horrifically -- at his mother's dinner table. But what he's watching now isn't a hasty, frantic route to relief. It's Ohtori, pleasuring himself. There's a world of difference, at least from where Shishido's standing, with a bulge in his own trousers that's getting more painful by the second.  
  
One of Ohtori's hands is running up and down his chest, pausing to finger his nipples. The other is just barely stroking his cock, plucking at the head in a movement that looks an awful lot like he's playing a pianissimo decrescendo. One, twice, he rubs his knuckles along the underside. He lets out a breathy sigh every time he does this, like it feels almost unbearably good. Shishido has never touched himself this slowly, but he can guess. Ohtori's obviously been here for a while, because his hair is in sweatcurls, and his chest hazed with moisture.  
  
Shishido shoves his hand against his crotch, trying to stop his own cock from joining the party. Ohtori starts rocking into his own hand, emitting little moans that sound like 'Oh.' Shishido frowns. No. He's saying 'Ryou.'  
  
Shishido freezes. Ohtori has managed to drop the -san, which Shishido's never mentioned for fear Ohtori will add it right back on again. But Ryou? He's _never_ heard that name cross Ohtori's lips.  
  
Until now.  
  
Shishido backs away from the door on cat feet. When he gets far enough, he runs. He passes several people on the stairs, who have enough sense to flatten themselves against the wall as he approaches. For his own part, Shishido manages to untuck his shirt so that it covers his all-too-obvious erection.  
  
When he gets back to his own room, he locks the bedroom door and shoves a chair under the handle of the bathroom door for good measure. With fingers that might have been trembling slightly, he draws Ohtori's magazine out from under his mattress, where it's been covered in brown paper and shoved into an old t-shirt. None of this would have helped if anyone found it and just opened it up, but Shishido feels that he has to at least make a pretence of concealment.   
  
Shishido liked how it felt to kiss Ohtori. He also likes pretending that it's Ohtori's hand, sliding up and down his erection while he says stupid things like 'You're so _big_ ' and maybe even puts it in his mouth for a while. Then there's the magazine, where guys are doing all sorts of perverted things to each other and making Shishido's stomach squirm like a snakepit. The link between the two is what Shishido is prepared to let Ohtori do to him. It would be unfair to keep kissing Ohtori, or tell him that he _loves_ him -- maybe he does, though, but not in any stupid, girly way -- if Shishido gets all prissy about the sex side of it.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Shishido opens the magazine to what he would have called his favourite image, if he'd dared. He unzips his trousers, thinks for a minute, then takes them off altogether. He plants his feet on the edges of the bed, already feeling funny about opening himself up so wide. The air purls cool against his hidden places. Shishido wraps one hand around himself. He has to be careful not to squeeze too hard; if he even so much as thinks about what he's just seen he'll come on the spot, and he needs more time.   
  
The magazine doesn't spare its viewers a single detail, although to be fair neither of the men in question look like they're objecting. The grimace of the man on top is a little too close to Ohtori's most recent expression, so Shishido shifts his gaze to the man's fingers. Shishido gulps, as he's done every time he's forced himself to truly look at what they are doing. As usual, a jolt passes through him -- half thrill, half fear.   
  
Still keeping a comforting hand on his cock, Shishido slips his other hand behind. He lets one fingertip graze the tiny opening back there. He has to stop himself from snatching it back again, out of shame and fear. But he's Shishido Ryou. He's not about to back down from a little pain -- or even a lot of pain -- when something he wants lies at the end of it.   
  
And he does want Ohtori, he knows that much. Even if he'll never be able to say it properly. Even if there'll never be cherry blossoms in Ohtori's hair when Shishido finally makes him his. Even if there's no thunderbolt or flurry of pink hearts or elegant speeches.  
  
So he puts his hand back down there and pushes the finger past the tight ring of muscles. It is a hot and intimate pain that ranks right up there with getting hit with a tennis ball at two hundred Ks an hour, though in theory Shishido can't understand why. He leaves his finger in place while he remembers to breathe, and tries not to think how bad this grating friction will feel when something as large as Ohtori's long, slender cock is trying to get inside.  
  
When he finally slides it back out he can't bear to try again right away, so he lets his mind drift as his other hand moves up and down. When he comes he's thinking of Ohtori, and how crazily hot he looked. Perhaps they can just do this for a while, together. Or Ohtori can drug Shishido beforehand and then fuck him while he's too doped to feel the pain.  
But no, he can't give up this easily. Shishido is stubborn and hard-headed and a lot of people have said these traits will bring him to grief one day. This appears to be that day.   
  
Gloomily, and with hands still slippery, Shishido pushes his index finger back inside. To his surprise, it goes in far easier now. He gets as far as his knuckle without feeling anything worse than a throbbing stretching sensation. His brain is foggy from arousal and it takes a good few seconds to realise that his come eased the way. When he does he almost laughs out loud. Of course -- lubrication! They were talking about it only the other day in physics. Shishido is new to all of this, but from what he's seen in the magazine he's willing to bet that someone somewhere sells stuff that does the job properly, and on purpose.  
  
Now that the pain factor is all but gone, Shishido experimentally wiggles his finger. From Ohtori's point of view Shishido can see the attraction, but it's not doing much for Shishido. Still, it doesn't _hurt_ now. That's the main thing. If he can fit a few fingers up there, then Ohtori's cock shouldn't pose a problem. All a bit stupid and uncomfortable, but if Ohtori enjoys it ...  
  
Shishido's wrist is starting to cramp from the odd angle, so he lifts his hips a bit to draw his finger out. He's at the second knuckle when he bends it to speed up the process. Suddenly the world is all dark angles and fiery shooting pleasure. Shishido's muscles loosen and he collapses back to the bed. His finger slams into that spot again. Shishido lets out a startled shout, but his body is one step ahead of him. His fingernail scratches against the sensitive skin and his knees start to tremble. In seconds he's come for a second time, hard and all over his school shirt.  
  
"Choutarou," whimpers Shishido, because it's the only word his brain remembers.   
  
He eventually gets to tennis practice, bringing along a book Ohtori wanted to borrow and an apology for his no-show earlier. He's nothing if not disciplined, so he doesn't think his tennis is worse than usual because every five minutes heat twists in his belly like he wants Ohtori's fingers to twist inside him. Shishido is stronger than that.  
  
He's also, by the end a trip to the pharmacy and a sleepless night, up to three fingers.  
  
+++  
  
Ohtori finds a folded note in his locker. _Stay over_? it reads. It's scribbled on a bit of torn-off notepaper, grubby from handling and with the tail end of a chemical equation on the other side. Ohtori treasures it like a Shakespearean sonnet on the original manuscript.  
  
There's only one week left of Ohtori's freshman year. At this stage he doesn't even care if he gets caught, but why bother when Hideki still owes him a debt of honour? In his heart Ohtori will never forgive his roommate for what he did, but with his mouth he says the words. It's sad, the way Hideki brightens. He bobs his head like a dog and says of course, he'll tell the dorm master that Ohtori went to an early piano practice tomorrow morning.   
  
Shishido is awake and waiting, a torch planted in the middle of a nest of blankets like a bouquet. The side of his mouth tugs up at the sight of Ohtori, although he tries to hide it. He untangles his legs and makes room for Ohtori on the mattress, and Ohtori feels his heart turn over and nearly choke him.  
  
He kisses Shishido because he senses Shishido wants him to, but mostly because _Ohtori_ wants to. Shishido's mouth is warm and yielding. He can't stop a faint tremor when Ohtori's tongue finds his and his hands clench slightly on Ohtori's arms. Ohtori doesn't mind at all, because he's not exactly the posterboy for cool and collected at that moment. He's too hungry for more. He moans in disapproval when Shishido draws away.  
  
"D'you want ..." Shishido's eyes are shy in the torchlight. He looks as if he'd like a cap to hide under. His fingers slip between the buttons on Ohtori's pyjama shirt, brushing the hot skin underneath. Ohtori feels his cock grow full and heavy and he's embarrassed by his lack of control.   
  
Shishido can't seem to finish his question. He wriggles back a little and pulls his own shirt over his head. Ohtori watches the golden-washed muscles move with something close to asphyxiation. There are wisps of dark hair under Shishido's arms, a trail of it down his tummy. Ohtori wants to rub his face against them. He thinks this is probably totally uncool.  
  
Shishido's hands are back at Ohtori's buttons. Ohtori realises he's closed his eyes, but he doesn't open them until he feels the hesitant fingers start to move. When Shishido is halfway down Ohtori finds his need and starts to help him, ripping the buttons out so fast he catches up to Shishido's fingers in a matter of seconds.  
  
Their hands twist together. Shishido uses his grasp to pull them down so they're lying chest to chest. The torch falls to the floor and rolls away. A loop of light on the wall allows Ohtori to clearly see the way air is shuddering in and out of Shishido's mouth and the edge of his shoulder, but not much else.   
  
Ohtori nuzzles around till he finds Shishido's mouth, accidentally kissing his ear and neck and hair along the way. Shishido's hands convulse against his bare belly, then spread out to hold his hip. When their mouths meet Ohtori dissolves. His tongue sinks straight into Shishido's mouth and he grinds mindlessly, wrapping his arms around Shishido to hold him tight.  
  
"Choutarou, stop," gasps Shishido. "You're ... you're going too fast."  
  
Ohtori detaches right away, feeling his face burn with shame. The last thing he wanted was to force Shishido into doing anything, especially when he hadn't even decided if he liked Ohtori that way or not. It's just ... Shishido makes him hot. So hot that reason and logic fly out the window. When they're half-naked and in bed together, there's no way Ohtori can hold himself back.  
  
"I'd better leave," he mumbles.  
  
"Choutarou, I --" Shishido sits up, and Ohtori can't help but notice the tent in his shorts. "I like this, honestly I do, and I like you, but --"  
  
"What?" A grin of delight breaks across Ohtori's face. "You like me?"  
  
"Of course." Shishido looks at him like he's insane. "I _really_ like you, Choutarou. I want us to do ... everything." His hand goes to adjust an imaginary cap. His bemused look is so cute Ohtori wants to kiss him immediately, but he resists. "But not _yet_. I'm sorry."  
  
"Why?" Ohtori takes Shishido's hand and laces their fingers together. "All I wanted was for you to like me back. And, well, to sleep in your bed with you." He feels a blush rise at his admission. "Anything else is just a bonus."  
  
Shishido's smile is big and beautiful. Ohtori wants to tell him so, but he's not sure Shishido is ready to hear things like that yet. Instead, he prods Shishido until he's lying with his back to Ohtori and lays a hand on his hip, just like he always imagined.  
  
"Are we spooning?" asks Shishido gruffly.  
  
"Yes." Ohtori nestles his chin against Shishido's head. His soft hair rustles as Shishido heaves a deep sigh.   
  
"I thought we were." He leaves a long enough pause that Ohtori thinks he might have drifted off to sleep, then says in the quietest voice imaginable, "Are you okay with waiting?"  
  
And because Ohtori's nearly asleep himself, he says something that is both true and far too soppy to say aloud normally. "I'd wait forever for you, Ryou."  
  
"You're such a sap, Choutarou," sighs Shishido. And moves Ohtori's hand up to cover his heart, holding it there until they fall asleep.  
  



End file.
